Entering in the corporate world has effectively sucked away all the sunshine there ever was in my life. In a literal sense. Not so much a metaphorical sense. Mostly.
But seriously, once upon a time I lived my life in daylight and had enough sunlight to take do the things I wanted to do outdoors. But with the sunlit hours in a day reduced to ten (from about 7:30 a.m. to 5:30 p.m.) and my workday taking up eight of those (8:30 a.m. to 5:30 p.m.), I’ve been forced to adapt to the darkness.
Now, I wake up at 6 a.m. sharp (kind of — with the snooze button, it’s more like 6:20), and my window still looks the same as it did when I went to bed.
Which makes running at 6:20 that much more bizarre. I begin the run while things are more or less quiet on the suburbian front. The squirrels and birds are looking out their tree holes saying, “Who the hell does that?” And I answer, Me. Because daylight savings time has reduced me to this.
The product of all this has been a bizarre sleep pattern, a bizarre hunger during breakfast and a self-righteous knowledge that I’ve run three miles before you’ve even gotten up for the day. So there. (It’s this kind of thing that allows me to hold my head up when someone says, “You’re a receptionist? Well, any job in this economic climate is good, I suppose.”)
So I run through suburbia, and as the first cars pull out of driveways, the birds start chirping. I make it back to the house for yoga, a quick breakfast and a running jump into the car so that I get to the office on time.
And by the time I get out of work, it’s dark again. Go figure.