I’m not great at sticking to routines – I plan to get up at a regular time or eat regular meals or go swimming on a regular basis but I seem to find that doing stuff gets in the way – it is still a surprise to me that I can manage to take my meds everyday.
I’m not sure whether this is a consequence of growing up in a household where 4 & 10 hours were perfectly ordinary sleeping patterns, more than 1 meal a day was considered a feat of organisation and the most important thing was getting the jobs done or a reaction to the other part of my childhood in a strictly ordered boarding school where my whole day was ruled by bells and timetables.
Regardless, my concession to the fact that I will fill my time with any manner of pointless activities if I give myself the chance is deadlines and a diary. Fixed appointments for me and for the beloveds are written down and planned for, hours to be shared are agreed in advance and if there is something I need to do I set myself a deadline with consequences (usually someone else’s annoyance/disappointment) for failure.
So today I have been filling in the diary for the next few weeks and trying to pin my supervisors down for a meeting date so I have a fixed deadline for this wretched chapter.