- Of course, there’s the obvious: clean the kitchen, the hub of disaster.
- Clean the living room.
- Dining room.
- Bike (or take a walk).
- Track my points.
- Pick up apple juice, low-sugar oatmeal.
- Take the kids somewhere?
Life has become quite predictable at this stage of my existence. Well, that’s the thing about having two kids. Predictability is a good thing. From early adolescence, my childhood was marked by turbulence from my mother’s mental breakdowns and my parents’ fighting. My mother, herself, by the nature of her illness, was unpredictable, and I lived in a constant state of anxiety and fear.
I know that Desmond might have inherited some of my anxiety, but life for my children is pretty stable. At least compared to my childhood. So in my case, some degree of predictability is desirable and welcomed.
An odd thing happens, though, sometimes, when you’re in crisis for a long time. It becomes your “normal.” Then predictability feels foreign and weird. You don’t know how to handle it. Then, sometimes you create little crises where none previously existed.
But I think, mostly, I adjusted to adulthood well enough, especially considering my circumstances, where I came from. I could’ve done a lot worse.
On the other hand, I’m worried about my brother. He seems to only talk to me when he’s doing well, and I haven’t heard from him in a while. He’s had his ups and downs over the years. So, I guess, have I. So haven’t we all.
But I’m at the point where next time I reach out I am half-jokingly going to tell him to text me or I’m coming down there.