I was surprised to realize yesterday that it’s only been three
weeks since I was cut loose. Thanks to my decisively altered lifestyle, my
departure seems so much farther removed. In an office, hours blur into days,
weeks, and months. You arrive, you boot up, you sip your coffee, you perform your litany of barely
distinguishable tasks, and before you know it, it’s the holidays again.
Now, no two days are alike, since every day features some 14 hours of
maintaining Robert’s multi-faceted datebook. He’s got wide array of playgroups,
kiddie concerts, and music classes — not to mention his daily regimen of
scuttling around the park, waving at strangers and leaving a trail of chalk
graffiti. Every minute is filled with 60 seconds’ worth of distance run, before
he mercifully passes out for the night, leaving us both feeling like we’ve just
finished a ten-mile hike.
The great part of all this is that I spend a lot of time in his head, making
it impossible to spend much in my own. There’s no time to think about adapting.
You just adapt.
