June 10, 2011
4.00 o'clock this morning.
I am wide awake.
Dark outside.
Stephen snoring fitfully beside me.
Keith and his friend Rossco stumbling back and forth between Keith's room and the bathroom is who knows what state of mind.
Dogs sound asleep.
Me laying beside the cacophanous Stephen, thinking of all the work I had to do, work that involves word processing programs and not hoes and spades.
Which was enough to get me out of bed at 5.00 am.
Who could possibly sleep with the knowledge of grant applications, journal articles, textbooks pressing in on their conscience?
Not me.
Resigned to wakefulness, I wander downstairs to make coffee, feed the hounds, who were now awake because I was, and take them out for their morning ablutions.
Even in the semi dark of 5.00 am I noticed there were vaguely familiar lumps in the front hallway.
Tentatively I touch one of these lumps.
Yup.
Poop.
It would seem that Stephen fell asleep before taking Tikka out for her final hurrah before bed.
Now, in Stephen's defence, Tikka had kept him up most of the night before.
He was exhausted.
I should have probably taken her out, but he assured me he was fine, it would be done, no problems.
Until someone shits in the hallway.
The real question is how come Stephen was up the previous night with Miss Tikka?
Thunder and lightening.
We had a loud and long lasting thunderstorm Wednesday evening.
Sheets of rain pouring from the sky?
No problem.
But throw in the flashes of lightening, and booming thunderclaps, and you have a 13 year old, 85 pound Belgian shepherd who doesn't know what the hell to do.
So she tries to dig holes in the bedroom floor.
Or, if we're really lucky, she attempts to scale our bodies.
Which is quite painful.
And we all bear the scars of her valiant attempts to crawl inside of our skin for safety and protection.
There have been nights were either Stephen or myself, or both, have been on either side of Tikka, on the floor, her tight between us, in an effort to sooth her shattered nerves.
Wednesday night, I hoisted her up on the bed with me, which kept her calm until Stephen came home with Keith and she had to give her Pookie his after work greeting, even though she was absolutely terrified a clap of thunder would strike her on the stairs.
And Frankie?
We actually don't know if he's afraid of thunder and lightening.
He just does whatever Tikka does.
I've been having a difficult time getting into a rhythm at work.
Plans for how to tackle work and enjoy the summer sun were made during our eight hour drive to Montreal.
Completely reasonable, doable plans.
Plans that would ensure the grant application was written, the journal article was finished, Stephen's proposal was finished and his ethics course complete.
Plans that guarantee all kinds of gardening time, dog walking time, hanging laundry to dry in the sun time. . .
But I just don't want to be in my office.
In front of my computer.
I want to be outside.
Alas, gardening isn't going to get anything written.
Nor is hanging laundry, or walking the dogs.
Therefore it would seem I have to work harder at implementing my plan.
Work until 2.00 pm, and then spend the rest of the day doing all my outside things.
Em finishes school next week, so theoretically, I could be to work by 7.00 am, which would mean seven hours of writing time.
Home for the remainder of the day, digging and planting and weeding and pulling.
So simple and logical on paper.
So difficult to implement.
The warm sun is calling me, calling me to come outside and enjoy the blue sky and gentle breezes.
What a time to decide to take up gardening.
I've faced tougher challenges than this.
Raising kids, Meredyth and Stephen in particular.
I can do this.
This morning, I am heading to the library.
No computers.
Just my very unpolished article, a pad of paper, a pen.
"Old school" according to my faithful Research Assistant.
Starbucks coffee.
Huge windows to remind me of what awaits me once my work is done for the day.
Now all I need is discipline.
If anyone has some to spare, you can find me on the main floor of the Harriet Irving Library.
I'll be the one staring out the windows with the venti Starbucks coffee cooling beside me, the unpolished article, pad of paper and pen sitting on the table, untouched.
Title Lyric: Thunder and Lightening by Phil Collins
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