Routine

If I were a betting girl, I'd bet this: people are really sick of me talking about baseball.

While the nature of my obsessions may not be predictable, the fact that I am obsessive by nature is. And so I leap from one to the next, each more intense than the last. This is what I'm into now. Now this. Ooooohhhh, now THIS. Find a way to combine them and I explode into a million shimmering pieces of light.

Most other obsessions fade without the constant contact of commitment. I can't be at every Todd show. I can't go to Latvia every month. So my focus wanes: and onto the next thing.

But I can go to baseball games. At $5 a ticket, it's hard not to just go on a whim. A friend asked us if we were going to the game again tonight. He said it seems as if we're ALWAYS going to the game. I'd be okay if that were the case. There's something in the routine of it that is comforting; knowing you'll be there for the 7th inning stretch (or the 14th inning stretch, as the case may be), the fireworks that follow a home run. Knowing the jumbotron prompts to clap, even if you don't always clap because you're too busy with your own rituals.

So I apologize for talking so much about baseball.

But as you can see...

...it's kind of become a routine.

(Related to routine: please forgive the prolonged absence/unpredictability of Sunday Zen; I'm preparing for a big trip and most of my Sundays have been occupied with erranding. More on this soon...)

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