it doesn't feel like friday

One thing about this nomadness is that time starts to become meaningless. If you asked, I might say this week went by quickly. I spent Tuesday with the twins, Wednesday in the car, part of Thursday in a garden, and most of this morning in bed. Time is always relative.

Even a year after we moved to Chicago I would often wake up, look out my window, and think to myself, "oh, I am in Chicago today." These days I have to think even harder about where I am. I was having trouble keeping track of which side of the Bay I was on. And now that we are in Southern California, I have to remind myself that I can't go get a Tea Royal because it is now 400 miles away. These are small things to be sure, but I can't begin to describe how odd I find these thoughts floating in my head.

I know this is a common experience. A friend once reported finding herself waking one morning (after she had moved halfway across the country), and picking up the phone to call me and ask if I wanted to meet her for coffee (or tea in my case). She of course remembered before dialing my number that it wouldn't work given her change in locale.

It is also interesting trying to keep in my mind where things are in relation to where I currently am. Remembering how to get from point a to point b when point a keeps changing isn't easy. I pride myself on having an excellent sense of direction, but find this is a challenge. Of course once I did follow One Way signs in search of the Underground in London, but as you can see, I did find my way back.

There is also a part of me that does want to get too comfortable. I feel like a flower who is worried about constantly being transplanted. I know I could be plucked at any moment, and so am careful about how I place my roots. Don't get to friendly with the soil. Don't just expect that the water will flow. Of course it keeps me from growing.

My key chain says "Take Risks". I bought it in my favorite store in Austin, Texas. Maybe I need to be more daring. Perhaps I need to bloom where I am planted, even if the risk of uprooting looms. Maybe then time will matter. And Fridays will feel like Fridays.

currently reading :: The Essence of Chocolate