That can scarcely be controlled.

For the past days an old forgotten song by Simon and Garfunkel has been ringing in my ears. I do not know how much of you remember Patterns.

The closing lines are :

My life is made of patterns

That can scarcely be controlled.

That is exactly the way I feel. The orderly, well planned life of a control freak has surreptitiously mutated into a maze full of surprises, some good, some not so good and some frankly manic. Every time the control freak in me heaves a sigh of relief and dares to think that things have fallen into place, a vicious little troll who seems to have made it its life mission to ensure I do not have a moment of rest springs up from his dark cave with another dare. I can almost see him laughing away at my discomfiture as I run helter skelter picking up the pieces of my still tenuous new seemingly orderly life and fitting then back in the boxes I have created whilst thinking of new boxes to contain the new challenge.

As if Mr Hodgkin was not enough we have Ms Dengue to please. No it is not Ranjan who has the crazy fever but a lovely young volunteer who is staying with us at home. My heart goes out to this child who came to volunteer with our kids at pwhy and finds herself in bed with this ghastly ailment. So more blood test for this child, more googling to find ways to make it easier and of course the fear that it may affect Ranjan. So tons of mosquito repellent were bought and Ranjan is now smelling like a citronella garden!

As I key in these words I am wondering what my little troll is planning to startle me with next. The only way to deal with all this is to laugh because otherwise I would be ready to jump without a chute and see if I have the wings to fly.