I like to think I am adaptable. But schedule changes really mess me up.

Back in college, I somehow managed to have all my classes on specific days, for three years. I really didn’t notice, until one day, I was just really out of sorts. My friend took me aside and said, “Do you know what’s wrong with you?”

I didn’t.

She reminded me that my schedule had changed, and she said that was what was bothering me. I was surprised, but realized she was right.

The pandemic has had the side effect of messing up our schedules. I felt bad for my youngest son James, who goes to school two days a week, to his dad’s another day, spends one day at home with me and eldest son Erick while I work from home, and the fifth day he is with his brother in the morning and a sitter in the afternoon. His behavior specialist assured me that is not uncommon right now, and it is actually good that each weekday he knows who he will be with.

I, however, am freaking out. For one thing, I have less time available to write. Then there’s the divorce issues, which are, hopefully nearly resolved. And then there are all the everyday things that need doing.

Is it any wonder it feels like my brain is melting most of the time? In the great scheme of things, a few schedule changes are minor. But it sure feels major.

Adding to the fun - I can’t cry.

My adoptive mother and I talked about it once. She said she felt lucky when I was an infant, because I barely cried. Uh-huh.

My eyes do tear a little, enough to keep them hydrated. But that’s about it.

So when I’m unhappy, it comes out in weird ways. I yell. Or I shut down. Or I do a lot of yoga. Oh well, yoga’s healthy.

Someday, the pandemic really will subside, and we will all be grateful. And then, if human history holds true, we will all do our best to put 2020 out of our minds.

Try not to forget. And keep your masks, clean and stored, because the next pandemic may come sooner than you think.

Namaste.