...And what you thought was a hurricane was just the rustling of the wind

Tuesday night marked the last day without electricity. The remnants of Ike swept up towards middle America and its gusts knocked out power to around half a million Ohioans. It's still out for about half of those people. Ours went out Sunday afternoon, and we'd been sitting by lantern light since. Boredom set in for most folks, I'm sure, by hour one. At least they could get out after the storm, start the cleaning process, and prepare for the coming week of simple living. I, on the other hand, keep a very odd schedule. Awake until six in the morning, then asleep until two-thirty that afternoon.

So what was a respite to many, getting together outside and bonding around a chainsaw and a game of corn hole, was for myself hours of sitting in the dark while struggling to tune in bad radio stations and reading dimly lit books. There's only so much one can do without electricity, and even less in the middle of the night. It was not entirely pleasant, though I admit that at this point I feel a tinge of nostalgia. My mind wasn't being muddled by what are considered our modern conveniences; no computers, no internet, no television, no video games. These are only conveniences when you actually need them. The other 80% of the time, they are distractions. I missed my computer for the singular fact that all of my music is stored within, but the majority of the experience was a welcome vacation. I had time to consider many things, of which I used to consider a specific few (pretty much the main issues covered in the previous writing). It was during this time that I started the exercise, determined to make a substantial commitment to my cause.

But I know that the schedule I keep, natural disaster or no, is not acceptable. Therein lies a problem, however, as I notoriously despise the concept of sleep. It's not the sleep itself that I don't embrace. It's the fact that, as I slumber, the world moves without me. This feeling is also the cause of what I considered until a recent revelation to be chronic procrastination. I do not in fact procrastinate, I'm just a victim of my own deep-seated desires to never miss a beat. I always feel that, no matter what I'm doing, I'm excluding myself from some ethereal event. So I sit around, doing nothing, so as to not miss out on what is essentially more examples of nothing. This leads to my dysfunctional sleep patterns. I stay up all night and a portion of the day, and sleep for the rest. My proactivity therefore becomes a catalyst of the problem. I know it must change, but the convincing of my brain and my body to go along with this is the tricky business.

Today, I went to bed at eight in the morning. I had been up since four in the afternoon the day before (I had willed myself to remain in bed due to having nothing to wake up to in our temporary modern dark age). I woke up at two-thirty, did fifty, and got on the computer to check in on my strictly-maintained internet world. Nothing had changed. I subjected myself to some much needed musical and photographic inspiration (I hadn't seen her image since the power went out) and headed downstairs. I proceeded to wash and dry two loads of towels in preparation for my overdue shower.

So I waited. Waited for the laundry to finish, waited for my mother to return from work, and waited for others to take their own overdue showers. But mostly I was waiting for my mother. One problem that presented itself about a year ago was the absence of my longtime barber. He was the only man I trusted, as he was the only one who ever did it just right. He was old school. A one-room shop with one stool, and the famous striped pole. And while he could not perform basic medical procedures, as was the purpose of the barbers of yore, he was well versed in the art of men's hair cuttery. Except my aging, long term barber up and left after many, many years. Sure, there is another barber just up the street, but he's not my barber. This, compounded with a general lack of money, lead to my hair growing far longer than I was comfortable wearing it.

So I waited for my mother, and after she had arrived, I asked her to wield the scissors against my unacceptably long mane. That she did. It must be said, though, that she is not particularly well versed in the barber arts, and results are always highly questionable. But I don't care now. Much like the aspects of my personal life, I'm simply sick of the status quo. Now the hair that was weighing me down is gone. No longer does it drape down to my shoulders and curl outward away from my neck, only to fall to my face from the slightest incline. My head is lighter now and my resolve stronger. One infinitesimal step towards my goal has been completed, but it's still one more step than before.

In a little while I will go brush my teeth. After that, I'm sure some more lurking around on my digital devices will take place. Then I will complete my pre-sleep procedures (I'll be throwing in some reverses to my regimen tonight), and I will remove to my bed. I'll place my head upon the pillow and rest; a little softer tonight and a little easier.

After all, that's why I'm here.