I'm starting to notice the breakdown of my old routines.
Even though my job affords an atypical schedule, the semblance of a structured work week is definitely in the rear view mirror.
Work still occupies hours each day, but it is no longer the driving narrative.
The last few days I've been awake before the birds signal the ascent of the sun, but
the week prior my dreams held me captive until 9am.
One of my first early morning thoughts is what to cook for dinner.
I calculate how many hours I will need to dedicate to kitchen prep and cooking and
when will I weave those hours into the day.
The past five weeks, I've only had vegetables, grains and beans.
Yesterday I picked up shrimp and halibut from a restaurant pantry.
I will toss the shrimp in a parsley, garlic pesto and roast in a hot oven.
I enjoy having more time in the kitchen to experiment and bake, but
it also means extra hours cleaning said kitchen.
The stove and floor are magnets for spills and crumbs.
No doubt, there are aspects of this experience I will miss whenever life resumes
at a pace that no longer requires social distancing.
Connecting to a simpler way of living is deeply satisfying.
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