Under the Rising Sun

This is really disjointed, but that kind of reflects my thinking this morning.

Spring seems to have finally arrived in earnest. Before going to bed last night I left a blind up on the small window of our bedroom that faces east, and when I woke briefly this morning at 4:30 I looked there and saw that darkness of night was already waning and the sun would rise soon. I fell back asleep and only woke again at 6:10 when the alarm went off. On cue the cat jumped up and nestled against my stomach purring. The large dog downstairs yawned, bawling like an elk. Reluctantly I pushed the cat off and rolled stiffly out of bed.

Most mornings are the same. I wake up raw and confused and feeling guilty and on armed defense, habitually expecting to find or be told that I’ve done something wrong, or I’ve committed some offence, or that I’m going to be attacked. I wait for the pieces of consciousness to settle into place and they do so differently everyday, but until they do I float in unfounded guilt.

The first bits of information I receive will form the bulk of how I feel throughout the day. Today I started by reading about a couple of girls in the Bow Valley who have started a gardening business. There was a picture of them smiling and their hands black with dirt. I read about a Permaculture conference in Turner Valley in July, more pictures of people growing food, digging in the dirt, interacting with the earth in mutual support.

At 7:50 when I picked up my phone a staff member told me he couldn’t find his files. I told him to restart his computer. Information Services to the rescue.

Walking the dogs we sat in the park, and while Maggie basted in the sunlight and Dublin chewed slivers of grass, I looked over the spruce trees with their bright, fresh tips. The branches of pine trees heavy with pollen cones. The natural world waking up after a long winter and wringing life out of a short, warm season. I said words of thanks.

I need to figure out not how to get through morning, but how to not roll out of bed in the red of a psychological balance sheet. I have to stop starting my days with a deficit.