Of WristWalls and Timers

Once a wasteland of divided attention, perceived obligation, and self-loathing, my afternoons are, as my mental endurance and stamina increases, transforming into something resembling useful: the second two-hour work session of the day (the first being between 0530 and 0730, give or take).

Process not without its difficulties: while my previous working method (cram everything into the morning) suffered in length, it was the price to pay for the consistency it afforded: I put in my time every. damn. day.

But the afternoons are cagey little bastards: those pangs of perceived obligation tend to grow louder as the sun comes up, those pangs that tell me I should, I must, I have to (nevermind the actual obligations that preclude daily repetition (though if I got a little better about time management, maybe I could swing it) – appointments to be made to make sure the car doesn't combust, etc etc, or my desire, on the weekends, to spend time with my wife and to take care of things that need doing). Pangs a lingering product, no doubt, of learned behavior (calling dismissed as hobby, the lack of recognition of its importance to me both by myself and by others) and general exhaustion.

Still, though, in this paint shop office – heater working well BTW; this place will be a sweat lodge before I'm done with it – with only two walls and no door, I'm learning to create walls and boundaries and doors with the MultiTimer app on my Apple Watch; it's the essential tool of my day, walls and structure on my wrist. Eventual goal being that it, the mid-afternoon block, becomes nothing special – it will simply be what I do.

And I know that, in order to bring my (perceived) calling to fruition, I must (there’s that word), in the words of JLP, make it so.

(Listening): MON CHIEN STUPIDE (Bande originale du film), by Brad Mehldau.