Despite all good intentions, I can’t seem to get here more than once a week these days. I keep promising to pick back up again, but it just doesn’t seem to happen.

I skidded into September with the momentum of a summer behind me; the kids were back at school but I wasn’t missing a beat!

I really convinced myself that I had handled the transition seamlessly. I’ve never done that before, but why not this time, right?

Perhaps next time I will have a clue. It seems like no matter how well you’ve prepared (or think you’ve prepared) for a transition, you can never really understand it until you’re living it. And then you have to adjust on the fly. While some people seem to be great at that, it’s just never been my strong point.

So finally, finally, my summertime head of steam has run out and I’m stuck in the middle of October going “AAAGGGHHH!! What happened?”

I am a creature of routine. That is to say, I LOVE routine. I thrive on it. I crave it. I worship it. Now I am not all OCD; when I say routine, I don’t mean hard and fast and written in stone. I just like a semblance of order; I like things to be relatively in their places, and to be done at certain times. I like the idea of knowing what to expect and when, but having room to play within the schedule, so I have space for spontanaiety.

I just can’t seem to nail a routine down these days, however. No matter how hard I try, it’s lke trying to grab a fish with your bare hands: it’s slippery and slick and you just can’t get a grip on it. Just when you think you’ve got it, it slips from your fingers again.

I guess what I really need is a net.

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