In January, I was asked if I died of consumption who would portray me if a movie was made about my life. I had no clue then. The next question posed, reveal a guilty pleasure. Unable to think of anything, I’m basically a plain, predictable, persistent person, my Monday routine came to mind. I stay in pajamas all day on Mondays and write, only to get up from desk at the end of the night, shower and put on new pajamas.
Since that confession, there has been no all day pajama Monday indulgence. One of my classmates asked why not switch days. Not happening I have a routine and Monday was all day writing. Eleven weeks later, it seems like its going to happen. Ha. Sunday night, I install an update and it wipes out my Safari connect. I turn off the computer knowing Monday morning I’ll have to traipse to the Apple Store.
Wide awake, six o’clock. Maybe if I call telephone support technician for assistance. Ha. Instead I have a 10:15 a.m. appointment with a Mac technician. Not amused. Revisions on my mind: characters, conversations, and scenes. All week I’d been trying to cultivate what Richard Bausch calls tidal patience – “Don’t let yourself set page goals, or think in terms of what gets done in a given session of work. Spend the time – the session is what counts, the time. The goal should be two hours, or three, or four, however many. Did you spend the time? If the answer is yes, no other questions. Cultivate patience of the tidal kind. This day’s work. It doesn’t have to be especially productive – no matter how well or ‘not well’ it seems to go in a day, it is always going well if you’re working, if you’re making the time. The good things will come if you’re making the time.”
Although this wave of writing ebbed and flowed, I desperately needed my Monday. And if you noticed, patience is not one of the P’s that describes me. (I’m working on it.)
It’s nine o’clock when I make the appointment. The ride takes thirty minutes. Before, stumbling out of bed, I say, “Lord, what am I too learn on this trip.” Otherwise, I’ll be cantankerous. I shove my laptop into its red pouch, and then into my purse. I dress, eat yogurt, make tea, procrastinate. I just filled my gas tank, and an all day Monday in my pajama means saving gas.
Inside the Apple Store, the man holding an ipad checks off my name and directs me to the technician. I explain the problem. As the Apple guy fixes the problem, he says to avoid the clash between Safari and Verizon, he pays his bill using online banking service. That’s a good idea. Then I ask about upgrading the Mac. He clicks a few buttons, say I have enough memory for an upgrade, points the mouse to Applications button showing exactly what to get. “Twenty dollars,” he says asking if my information is back up.
“Nope,” I say adding that I have a Time Capsule that’s still in the box, which I bought two years ago.
He clicks the mouse, drags an icon to my menu, and offers more instructions. Use the Time Capsule as my router or plug the Time Capsule up and it will automatically connect to my wireless router. Second option. I smile. I’m elated.
At the door, I decide to indulge, buy white chocolate mocha, get a table and writing. I stop at the Love Sac and fall onto a ginormous cushy square pillow. Then spend fifteen minutes chatting with the representatives about redecorating my living room and a bedroom. I’m jazzed.
I find my spot and before I know it, I have fifty tightly revised pages, put some scenes, backstory and characters in my grave document and it’s three o’clock. Four hours writing. Patience cultivated in the tidal.
Perhaps, Monday writing should move to the mall.