I didn't take my bullet journal to London, and it is remarkable how grounding it is to sit down and fill in the spreads for September. It's all there now, on paper, in my own handwriting, the appointments and the to dos and the habit tracker, and I've stopped feeling like I can't remember anything. My bujo is not the pretty kind, with different pen colors and washi tape and art journal pages, it's just a planner where every page is the structure that I need and not a publisher's idea of what works.
It is comfortingly efficient, and a return to routine.
And now I need to stop listening to Marina and the Diamonds on repeat because it's getting depressing, which does not help with the business of getting on with the day.
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