I’m starting to get in a routine. And I’m not complaining about it.

I’m pretty sure that a certain amount of routine is good, or, at least good for me. The commute has become pretty routine. On the way down I listen to a little of almost each station, even the one that broadcasts entirely in Spanish, always on the “listen out” for something new that I might like. On the way home it’s as much of the BBC news as I can stand to listen to ( well, I can’t stand to listen to any U.S. news any more. I feel like it’s all propaganda). I often get through a whole 45 minutes of it before waving my hands at the radio and shouting “Are you people out of your minds?!?” usually when some official from somewhere is being interviewed. And I really enjoy “the sport” because I haven’t got the slightest idea of how, or even why, to play cricket, but yet it all sounds so soothing, and, although “football” (soccer) is beset by graft and corruption it has so far proven immune to doping scandals.

However, with the escalation of tension between the Israelis and their Arab neighbors, I find myself screaming at the radio about five minutes into the broadcast. Naturally, I feel sympathetic to any civilian person caught up in the waves of violence that seem to be so much a part of the middle east. But, among the combatants, there is nobody who has the moral high ground, in my opinion, or indeed any moral ground at all. It’s like listening to the broadcast of a jailhouse boxing match between two murderer / rapists: you can understand why they’re hitting each other, you can even understand their strategy, but it’s difficult to care who’s taking more punishment, or who will ultimately win.

Not only have people in that part of the world been fighting one another for my entire life, they’ve been fighting each other for my parent’s entire lives. The terrorist groups are like packs of rabid dogs who ought to be put down for the safety of everyone around them, and the Israeli’s are like a pack of dog catchers with fire arms intent on killing everything with four legs. After listening my whole life to the claims and counter claims of these people – the ones who are still living – all I can get out of the story is that each side has so much blood on their hands it drips a river every time they point their fingers at one another, and there must be something in the water over there that makes people both blind to the needs of others and insane.

So, I turn over to a program called “As It Happens” which is broadcast from Canada. It features at least as many snake-ate-the-electric blanket stories as it does world news, so you don’t feel quite so overwhelmed. If you are a snake I guess that one would leave you rather queasy. Also, that program has cool flute music.

Anyway, it’s Friday. Friday is the day to clean Kendi’s cage. Saturday I do the pair-a-tweeters. Every other week I do laundry. I can now find all of my clothing from the move, which is a good thing. I bring iced tea to work with me in a little Tupperware container, and drink it out of the same green plastic glass on my desk every day. I tear the pages off my day by day calendar at the end of each day. When I get home, I have tea and toast. Kendi has toast crusts and water. Winston waits to see what’s going to fall on the floor. The Hub eats fresh fruit and tells me tales of The Depot.

All this can help a person feel sane, like you know what’s coming next. Even though, of course, we never know. But the news is right there, in your face, reminding you of all of that.