Momentum of the Day

May 8, 2013

Each day has its own momentum as if the effect of gravity on the hour hand dictated its pace.

As we sleep, the hours tick by like minutes as the hands of the clock cascade down from 12 to 6. Did you ever close your eyes in the night only to open them seconds later to find the morning sun streaming in?

As dawn comes, we struggle to rise as if we were pushing a boulder up the hill, but when that first sip of coffee hits our lips, we feel a bit of a tail wind and head straight for the bathroom. Or at least I do. A dose of reality. Eyes wide open.

The morning offers promise only after certain chores are complete: kids fed, showered, dressed and lunches packed. They have a list on the fridge lest they forget. I don’t know how they forget, but they do. Every morning.

Hopefully, we make the bus or we go into overtime and lose another twenty precious minutes of the morning.

The momentum builds until lunch. Clean. Organize. Chores. Errands. Things get done and there is a feeling of promise. Satisfaction. Progress.

Then, while lunch is being broken down into energy for my body, the energy of the day grinds to a halt. The hour hand reaches it’s apex at twelve and it’s descent accelerates toward six. The feeling pushing, striving against a light resistance is replaced by falling. Drifting down toward 6.

One. Two. Two hours until the bus. My list isn’t even half done.

I feel the gravity of many earths and sometimes take a nap. Sometimes, Andrew Johnson talks to me through my iPhone and tells me I can be better, more productive, drink the right amount of fresh water every day. Sometimes I believe him.

Sometimes, when I’m lucky, twenty minutes feels like eight hours. Sometimes, refreshed I awaken to the sound of the bus a half a mile away. I can hear it groan and rattle.

When it arrives, the lively chatter of the children bubbles up as the coffee maker gurgles out its second shift brew of artificial energy.

Relatively, the kids have returned from a hundred days of activity and I, earth-bound, have barely lived for a fraction of one.