I check my phone again. There's a part of me that wishes I wasn't so hell-bent on being early for appointments, coffee dates and work. I know I am missing out on that frisson of excitement that comes from just beating the clock with seconds to spare. I study the menu again. I already know what I want; I come here often and order the same thing every time. I know what you're thinking: that there's a certain neatness and predictability to my life. Of course you're right. But you'll forgive me for being prepared, for wanting to anticipate what every day brings as a way to try and manage the fact that my life is something of a tornado and I am hanging onto passing debris to survive.
