Exactly like clockwork, it’s every single Sunday. I can almost anticipate it now because it’s every Sunday. Like clockwork. Exact.

Why do I feel this way? I feel it in my body. In my mind. My body is in flight mode. My mind is a Bugatti, never quite finding the finish line.

It’s a weekly existential crisis and I’m both the interviewer and interviewee. Who? What? When? Where? Why? How?

The sun rises and sets. The moon waxes and wanes. I rotate through the 9 x 3 cycle.

Yet, today was not the same. Today, Sunday, was not exact and it was not like clockwork. It was like the tide shifted and I flowed with it, body and mind present.

I’ll still take that Bugatti, but now I’m in the driver’s seat.