Ever since I got back from Italy over a week ago, I have been riding the jet-lag wave. Bolting awake at 6 AM and longing to be catatonic by 10. Given that my old routine involved forcing myself into bed at 12:17 am and dragging myself back out of it at 6:32, I’m guessing that somehow, the time change has somehow helped my biological clock to stage a coup of my Person. While it’s probably better for my body, it feels a little strange. The idea of “Routine” stems from a funny kind of give and take between our bodies and our brains, but I find the idea of “Auto Pilot” doesn’t really register until we’ve spent some time off the plane, as it were.
Unfortunately, I suddenly realized that I had disembarked (oh, extended metaphors, how we love them!) from the vessel that was bringing me to blog everyday. I would think about doing it, I would sort of get an idea, I would get to my computer and find myself either a) really busy or b) too timid to proceed.
I think it’s because blogging as a genre is a bit unique, if not flat out odd. Once you’re in the zone, it’s easy to keep plowing through. But when you take a pause, it looks kind of scary from the outside. So if you fear getting back in the saddle, as I do, you’ll never get back in the habit. And you never get back in the habit, it will always seem terrifying to climb onto the horse. Kind of a Catch-22.