Then there's also the final word of the existing phrase to contend with: "Disruption." I'm sure the word came to me because I was literally experiencing a massive disruption to my routine: I was away from home and work for 14 days with only my thoughts to keep me company. It was a huge jolt to my systems—to the way I had been kind of autopiloting through life: Get up, go to spin, get ready for work, go to work, come home, make dinner, attend an arts event, come home, read, go to bed. Repeat.
tempus fugit*, part II
I'm leaving this residency a less fearful and more inspired, thoughtful person. The entire time I lived in income-based housing, I said that I wasn't really working much because what job could possibly pay me enough to value the one commodity I have always prized above all else? Time. (Believe me, I look back on that version of me with some level of shame at that entitlement. Reality Bites is hardly comedy or fiction for me. #HardcoreGenXer)
I’m stretchy-chasey, how about you?
Sometimes I wish life were more binary. I want to be stretchy. Period. I don't want to be stretchy and chasey, although truthfully, being chasey sometimes drives me to figure things out just to alleviate my envy. But it's hard to live simultaneously with those two qualities because the chasey feels like it is drowning the stretchy, and I know that the stretchy just needs more time.
I’m all out of sorts
I think I got cocky about my "new" rhythm, assuming (incorrectly as it turns out) that in the nine days since my first round of this unease, I had shaken it and formed a completely new set of habits that would just carry me going forward. I was utterly certain that Dr Marry could come visit (wouldn't change that, regardless this dumb day's outcome, likely in part from that disruption) so far into my time away that it wouldn't throw my routine into chaos. Turns out my confidence was misplaced.