This is the last day of my laying low-ness. Tomorrow I’ll be back in the proverbial saddle, blogging five days a week again. Tomorrow my big sister–and all her entertaining distractions–will be gone, along with my sweet-face baby nephew.
Except I kind of forgot what “normal” is for me.
It seems this entire summer, the only thing that’s stayed constant is that I haven’t.
Take jogging. All winter, my excuse for not exercising was because of all the snow and ice outside my warm cozy house. Exercising in the winter gives me the whooping cough. But the coming of summer didn’t really do anything for me. At all. I am no more in shape now than last year. Probably worse, actually.
I’ve been bouncing around the continent from week to week, never in the same place: Oregon, Washington, Utah, Idaho, Arizona, British Columbia. I think over 50% of this summer has been spent not here.
I even tried getting into the habit of making my bed every day, but there’s nothing consistent there. Sometimes Poor Kyle stays in bed after a long run to Oregon and back, and by the time he’s up, I’m ready to sleep again. My bed can go unmade for days at a time, despite my good intentions.
So how am I supposed to know my routine, if the constant in my life is change? I have no routine. My days are lived based on my current whims.
I guess it’s back to that, then.
I know it’s Thursday and I’m supposed to answer questions a question, but I’m going to do it tomorrow. Guaranteed it will be good [a nice discussion of birth control is in order, I believe], but it’s September 11th today. I wanted to write something different.
On this day in 2001, I was a shiny new Sophomore in high school, and America seemed to be changing forever. Even though I did not have direct relatives or friends in New York, my almost-fifteen year-old self could sense that times were strange. Times did change, and have changed continually since that day. It seems for me, and all the world, the only constant anymore…is change.