I hate routine. Routine is what ruins a happy life. Routine makes us fear the unknown. Routine makes life a monotonous cycle from which we can not escape. Routine also makes some comfortable. It takes away surprises and allows one to manage their day. Routine allows some to divide their day into little parts and masks inefficiency with the appearance of productivity. What routine does is fuck with the key part of life - adaptation.
When I was working at my last job, sometimes I would go to sleep at 2am, sometimes at 5am. Either way, I had to be up at 7:40am. I would jump out of bed, wash my face and brush my teeth and run out the door. I would get to work at about 7:57 every day and I would generally leave the same time every day. Some days later, some days earlier. These slight changes made life a little less monotonous.
My father is retired and while visiting he and my grandmother a few weeks ago, I noticed the thing that gets me the most. Routine. Every morning at the same time, the door opens, the cat is fed, the coffee is made, my grandmother appears, the breakfast is made, the coffee is drank, the dishes are placed in the sink, the aid comes, the parties part ways and the day begins. What is so amazing about this routine is that it take nearly two hours. As a visitor, I have nothing to do but join in. Meals are great times for people to chit chat and discuss the upcoming day. The only problem I have is that I watch from a distance and my ADD starts churning away in my head. Yesterday, I couldn't take it. In the time that it took them to get through this routine, I showered, I shaved, I checked my e-mail, my Facebook, my games. I got dressed, I came down and made a Greek omelet, I did my dishes and the crew, which also included my brother and his wife, were still in their spots. Going through the motions, those monotonous motions.
The meal was barely finished and the normal discussion started - "what should we do for lunch?' The last sip of coffee, barely down my gullet and the talk was on the next meal. Lunch at 1:30, ice cream at 3, a nap at 5pm for one, a drink for another. The talk is all about going out to dinner. Not tonight I respond, as I've responded the last three nights and like I did six of the seven the last time. Dinner is late, 7-30-8pm, not finished til nearly 9. "where's the coffee," my grandmother exclaims. As she does each and ever night. This all seems so odd to me.
Last night, my father went out. I was in charge. Dinner, Tilapia Francese with rice and sauteed spinach. She called to explain to a cousin that because I was cooking we'd have hot dogs and baked potato. An insult? Prepared, served, eaten, coffee served and sipped all within an hour. I half expected the earth to open up and suck us in. I have thrown off all that is known in these parts. Discussions of swimming, walks and watching golf happen every day, almost to the minute they were reported the day before. The Olympics is on. How does this affect the normal routine? A two week event, all day long. This can't be good.
Am I complaining? No. My father's generosity and hospitality is unparalleled. It's not my life. It never has been. I've always had jobs where the routine changed day by day. I think that's why times were tough when there was steady work. I fell into a malaise that I couldn't handle. It's why I love kids. There is no routine to their behaviors. Sure they need routine, but their actions open up a cornucopia of opportunities to experience life, a different life, each and every day.
I think about my life at home. Sure there is a routine, but I try to change it. Last year, moments waking up in another bed, long talks on the phone. I crave these things. Not every night, I don't want either of us to fall in. I miss my friends of old, with their last minute plans and impromptu barbecues. I miss the ability to do what I want, when I want. It's not about the money, of which I have none. It's about that freedom. It's about waking up to a new day, a different day. Sure there might be the inconvenience of work, but I remember my youth, where work was the stepping stone to a different plan. It was like Where The Wild Things Are every night. I was Max and the world were my monsters. My lovely monsters. Every day a new one. They were my friends. Each one representing the differences my life craves. Today I still have them, but they represent everything I despise in life. I'm no longer Max. I don't know who I am anymore. Four days in a row, I've finished my breakfast at the same time. I used to ask myself, what adventure can I explore, but now it's different. Now it's mundane.
What's for lunch?
When I was working at my last job, sometimes I would go to sleep at 2am, sometimes at 5am. Either way, I had to be up at 7:40am. I would jump out of bed, wash my face and brush my teeth and run out the door. I would get to work at about 7:57 every day and I would generally leave the same time every day. Some days later, some days earlier. These slight changes made life a little less monotonous.
My father is retired and while visiting he and my grandmother a few weeks ago, I noticed the thing that gets me the most. Routine. Every morning at the same time, the door opens, the cat is fed, the coffee is made, my grandmother appears, the breakfast is made, the coffee is drank, the dishes are placed in the sink, the aid comes, the parties part ways and the day begins. What is so amazing about this routine is that it take nearly two hours. As a visitor, I have nothing to do but join in. Meals are great times for people to chit chat and discuss the upcoming day. The only problem I have is that I watch from a distance and my ADD starts churning away in my head. Yesterday, I couldn't take it. In the time that it took them to get through this routine, I showered, I shaved, I checked my e-mail, my Facebook, my games. I got dressed, I came down and made a Greek omelet, I did my dishes and the crew, which also included my brother and his wife, were still in their spots. Going through the motions, those monotonous motions.
The meal was barely finished and the normal discussion started - "what should we do for lunch?' The last sip of coffee, barely down my gullet and the talk was on the next meal. Lunch at 1:30, ice cream at 3, a nap at 5pm for one, a drink for another. The talk is all about going out to dinner. Not tonight I respond, as I've responded the last three nights and like I did six of the seven the last time. Dinner is late, 7-30-8pm, not finished til nearly 9. "where's the coffee," my grandmother exclaims. As she does each and ever night. This all seems so odd to me.
Last night, my father went out. I was in charge. Dinner, Tilapia Francese with rice and sauteed spinach. She called to explain to a cousin that because I was cooking we'd have hot dogs and baked potato. An insult? Prepared, served, eaten, coffee served and sipped all within an hour. I half expected the earth to open up and suck us in. I have thrown off all that is known in these parts. Discussions of swimming, walks and watching golf happen every day, almost to the minute they were reported the day before. The Olympics is on. How does this affect the normal routine? A two week event, all day long. This can't be good.
Am I complaining? No. My father's generosity and hospitality is unparalleled. It's not my life. It never has been. I've always had jobs where the routine changed day by day. I think that's why times were tough when there was steady work. I fell into a malaise that I couldn't handle. It's why I love kids. There is no routine to their behaviors. Sure they need routine, but their actions open up a cornucopia of opportunities to experience life, a different life, each and every day.
I think about my life at home. Sure there is a routine, but I try to change it. Last year, moments waking up in another bed, long talks on the phone. I crave these things. Not every night, I don't want either of us to fall in. I miss my friends of old, with their last minute plans and impromptu barbecues. I miss the ability to do what I want, when I want. It's not about the money, of which I have none. It's about that freedom. It's about waking up to a new day, a different day. Sure there might be the inconvenience of work, but I remember my youth, where work was the stepping stone to a different plan. It was like Where The Wild Things Are every night. I was Max and the world were my monsters. My lovely monsters. Every day a new one. They were my friends. Each one representing the differences my life craves. Today I still have them, but they represent everything I despise in life. I'm no longer Max. I don't know who I am anymore. Four days in a row, I've finished my breakfast at the same time. I used to ask myself, what adventure can I explore, but now it's different. Now it's mundane.
What's for lunch?
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