replacing time

there's a little window beside my desk at work. all spring long, i sat and watched as little furball goslings stumbled behind their mamas. then, when summer arrived, i watched those goslings grow up into geese, navigating between the parked cars, scavenging for crumbs of take-out burgers, morning biscuits, or packed sandwiches. it was a beautiful evolution from baby to adult, all in a span of about three months.

but now fall has descended, taking away daylight savings time, and by 4:30 in the afternoon, my little window has turned black. the sun sets so incredibly early now, i can't see the geese. i can't see anything at all. the day feels so short. to me, sunlight equals energy. over the summer, when the sun was suspended in the sky until almost 9:00 p.m., it was as if the evening had endless possibilities. robert and i took countless walks down our road, we had many late night drive-through runs for wendy's frosties. we sat on our swing at watched the sun setting late.

now, we're ready for bed by 9:00, not walking in the fields. our eyelids begin to droop as soon as supper is over. watching glee last night took all the energy i could muster. it's not that i'm overly exhausted or overworked. it just that as sunlight=energy, darkness=sleepy.

so we created a plan. we decided to take that extra hour returned to us and instead of staying up later, we vowed to get up one hour earlier. this morning was our first try. we got up at 6 a.m. and selected a yoga television program on demand. i pulled on my leggings, drug my pilates mat out of the closet, and got ready for a half hour of relaxation, stretching and calm. but then we realized something. we neglected to read the description of the show. it was a jillian michaels yoga program. let me just tell you, this was not yoga, what she did. well, it was yoga, just yoga on about ten cups of coffee. five minutes in, i was already sweating. when she moved from a plank into push-ups, that's when we began to hate our lives just a little.

i looked over at robert, who had retreated to child's pose, his arms stretched out in front of him. we both looked at each other then silently, he turned the television off and we jumped back into bed, with 20 minutes left to sleep. and at that hour of morning, with the sun just creeping up, and a warm, dozing puppy curled up at my toes, 20 minutes was golden.

so we failed this morning. or did we? we tried. we know now that we are at least capable of waking up that early. so we'll do it again tomorrow. we'll try again. and maybe we'll fail again, but at least we'll fail together. but then--then we will grow together too. just like the geese. 

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