I hate being late. I would rather be an hour early than late. It’s a compulsion borne of relying on transit because, while I can finally say I can drive, I’m not legally allowed to do it by myself, and also, I don’t have a car. So I have to plan my route, and I need to give myself time.

I got a last minute shift at our Langley campus, but starting at 3 instead of 3:30. My start time has been 3:30 for so long now that even though I was in Langley and doing a crossword at the library by 2:30, I completely spaced the time. I was 10 minutes late, and I still feel awful.

“You’re never late!” my boss said. “Is it the commute?”

No, it’s just a break in my routine. My brain thrives on structure and routine, and change disrupts everything. On the upside, I was home early, and I missed the rain.