I spent the better part of this morning working through my to do list. The list takes up about ten pages in a steno notebook. Each task has a little box next to it. When I complete the task, I shade in the box. Why am I so obedient to the maniac who wrote the list? The younger me isn’t so smart. He’s the one who quit guitar for a decade, the same idiot who dropped out of school three (or was it four?) times. And now he’s making me a list of things to do? Maybe I should write him a list. What would I put on it? Would he listen to the wise future version of himself?
When I wake up in the morning, I often have the same feeling as when I wake from anesthesia. That is, I’m pleasantly surprised that I’m still alive, remember who I am, and remember what I was thinking about before I "went under." It seems like things could go very wrong when you “lose consciousness.” What if you don’t find it again? Getting your mind back when you wake up is some sort of uncelebrated miracle.
Every night when I give the dog her omega-3 pills I'm reminded that I give her better, more deliberate care than I give myself. Regular, nutritionally balanced meals! Time outside! Vitamins! Why don't I give myself the same?