The first morning of the week for me is often just the tangled remainder of a too-busy weekend that leaves me feeling more paralyzed than invigorated. From the tangle:
The cat has thrown up on the rug. I discover this by stepping in it in my socks.
I wore every pair of dance pants and tights I own over the weekend. I have four hours to do all of my laundry. Or I could just wear dirty pants.
I log on to email. 44 messages. I log back off.
I open my calendar to figure out my day, it is blank, just like the rest of the week. I put updating my new calendar on my mental list of things to do. I also put making a tangible list of things to do on it.
I drink the last of the coffee and think about the grocery store. Then I think about drinking more tea.
I walk downstairs and back up, three times, unable to remember what it is I am looking for.
I step in the wet spot from where I cleaned up after the cat in my last pair of clean socks.
I take a deep breath. I consider hunger and homelessness and addiction and violence and any number of other things worse than dirty socks and cat puke. I decide that attitude is everything. One thing at a time.