I love ruts. Being in a rut is sometimes the only feeling of order I have in my life.
It can be a rut of activity; a bout of reading, drawing, jewelry-making, blogging.
It can be a rut of ideas: psychology and counseling, Judaism, or other ideas
It can be a rut of routine: a daily/weekly/monthly/yearly schedule I adhere to.
But sometimes the ruts end abruptly and I'm twisting in the winds while lightening strikes.
And then, everything and nothing is attractive. Structure is gone. And I feel existential angst.