This is just a quick post with a quick observation.

The other day, I was leaving my parking lot at work when I noticed that one of the guys who worked at the lot left a check (from another parking lot patron) in my front seat.

Instead of exiting the rear of the lot as I usually do, I went out the front so I could hand the guy his check.

Whenever anything happens that alters my routine, I always question whether The Hand of Fate is guiding events; and the more innocuous the deviation, the more suspicious I am. (Now, I don’t actually believe in Fate. But I do like to keep my eye open for irony. If there is a god, for sure they’re messing with us just because they can; and I swear sometimes their sense of humor is a little obvious, if not downright predictable.)

As I was pulling out of the lot and onto the street, though, I thought, “Maybe that happened because I’m meant to see or do something on THIS route, as opposed to the other route.”

This is significant because, for the first time in a long time, my impulse was NOT to think, “I’ll bet something horrible is going to happen now that my route has changed.”

I’m not a pessimist by nature, but for the longest time now — years, in fact — I’ve had this permeating feeling that the other shoe was about to drop. All the time. It was like I was living my life under the shoe of Damocles. (I’ll bet Damocles didn’t even wear shoes.)

If you don’t like the weather in Ceil’s world, I thought, just wait awhile and it’ll get worse.

But that wasn’t the case the other day. It was just a regular weekday, and I was just returning a misplaced item, and I drove home by a slightly different route, and I didn’t feel harassed by circumstance, or the gods, or injustice. I felt…normal?

There is a chance that I am beginning to dip my toe in the waters of predictability and emotional stability these days. I recognize how bizarre it is, to recapture a sense of control during a time that most people would describe as “a ride in the Devil’s handbasket.”

But there it is nonetheless: I felt normal for the first time in so long, I almost didn’t recognize the feeling. I was a regular middle-aged woman, in a regular minivan, driving home from work on a regular day. It was so regular, in fact, that it was remarkable.

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