hiccups.

At the most inopportune moments, it twitches.
Just a brief flicker, nothing obvious.
But enough to make my thoughts restart and then I'm back to 5 seconds ago.
5 seconds? you ask.
What do 5 seconds matter?
They matter because it's an interruption. A pause. A blip.
And I don't have time for a gap.
I don't have 5 seconds.
I have now. And later. But not then.
You can't regain "then."
You can't go back to "then."
Then just happened, and with these twitches resetting my "now," too many nows are becoming irreplaceable thens.
And I don't need that.
Don't want that.
Can't have that.

I'm a routine person.

Not an organized person, just one who's keen on routine.
And rhymes.
And alliterations.
But let's stick with routine for now.
Each part of each moment of each day has a place.
Adjustments can, and must, be made at times.
But only if they have to be.
Only if it's absolutely necessary.
I would love to write everything in pen - black ballpoint pen - but I know how that goes.
Scribbles.
That's where penned notes end up; beneath layers of scribbles.
You can try all you want to make the scribbles look like planned doodles.
But they're not.
They're scribbles.
Feeble attempts to erase what was meant to be a concrete plan.
A scheduled event.
Something you took the time to write down.
To think about.
To plan around.
And now it's just a jumble of squiggles, staring up at you.
Taunting that you should know better by now.
That things aren't neat.
Aren't clean.
Aren't permanent.
Just penned thoughts about routine, waiting to be coated with scribbles by the day's end.
I like routine.
Schedules.
Plans.
But I'm not clueless.
And my scribbles look damn good.