A thunderstorm woke us this morning, a rare occurrence on Central Coast. My husband and I, who were raised in St. Louis and Houston respectively, then spent most of our adult lives in Boston, are thunderstorm-deficient, so we basked in the gloriousness.

The drama of thunderstorms resonates in my life lately, though more as a contrast to the cocoon in which I’ve been living than as a metaphor for truly dramatic events. I’m working mostly full time for someone else now, so I have hours and dress codes and all the things that most of you have managed for all of your lives, as I did for many decades, but not the most recent one. As a result, I can’t seem to figure out when to exercise, sleep, or go to the grocery. Not to mention blog.

When I do have free time, I either complete the most pressing task I have been ignoring, or I read. My reading has not actually been very effected by my working, which says something about my priorities. Whose priorities are these, anyway? They feel imposed by outside forces. It’s as if I am no longer the master of my fate, or at least my schedule.

Apparently I relied on habit more than I realized. For years I paid bills on Friday mornings, and the first week I was not able to do that, I just didn’t pay bills. Yipes. That’s the problem with exercise too, something I used to do when I first awoke. Trouble is, I can’t possibly arise early enough to exercise before work. Can I?

Perhaps it is a chance to create a shiny new self. Just as soon as I find the time.