Imagine me with eyes the size of saucers.

I have no idea what happened to most of February and the first half of March. For serious. It had been just long enough since my last move that I had conveniently forgotten the toll it takes on...everything. It isn't that I am having a difficult time feeling comfortable in a new house with new sounds at night or anything like that. In fact, it felt exactly right from the very first night there, comfortable and familiar.

The adjustment has been more in the disruption of my familiar patterns. I don't know where anything belongs yet, so I keep losing things, even though I have carefully put them away. Case-in-point: We wanted to go out to dinner on Saturday, and T asked me where our stash of gift cards was. I knew for certain that I had not carelessly tossed them in a pile. I distinctly recalled holding them in my hand and telling myself to put them somewhere that made sense, where they could be found when needed. And then...right, I couldn't figure out where that place was. I wandered the house in circles for a good twenty minutes before I finally located them. They *were* in a place that made sense, but the problem with a new house is that nothing actually makes sense yet. That is actually an accurate representation of my whole life right now too. My old rhythms and routines were designed to fit into an apartment, and now I am adjusting to a new space and a new routine, and I frequently find myself overwhelmed.

Toss in "plan a long distance wedding" and you have a recipe for not getting anything done before the next task draws my attention away, and my poor little blog sits neglected, weeks of my life shuffled out of sight with hardly a glance and a mention. A thousand thoughts that get swept into a meaningless pile, never making it into this space.

I am, in a word, overwhelmed. Maybe the first step back to feeling balanced is to just start the new normal. Maybe then the rest will fall in line.