I am thinking about routine this morning. I am at a friend’s house—one of the volunteer teachers. She is going back to her home country in a few weeks from now and this is my last chance to see her.

Because of this, I have no routine. First, I spent two days getting to the capitol by bus. Then I spent three days in the capitol. Now, I am here in her town.

It is one less tool in the box of how I can cope.

I use routine a lot to help me and it does help me. It makes things more predictable and less frightening and it also means I do those things that help automatically, without needing to remember to do them, because they are habit. And so they get done and I feel better.

But sometimes I remind myself of a Romanian orphanage child, because it is place and schedule and physical order that helps me cope more than the living human beings around me.

And this morning I wonder if I will ever trust anyone, and if people will ever help me feel safe instead of more frightened.

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