Skip to main content

Routine

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?

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

White Privilege

This was a post I wrote on Facebook after surprisingly not seeing any moaning about the Documentary by Jose Antonio Vargas, titled White People Dayyum! I just scrolled my timeline and not a single white person got their feelings hurt by White People. I unfortunately haven't seen it, but the number of fake accounts that popped up on twitter, tells me it was a damn good show. Here's the thing. If someone of color aka non-white says "White Privilege," are you offended? If you said yes, then you are exhibiting white privilege. It has nothing to do with how hard you work or study, how you stayed out of trouble, because here's the thing, that is entirely the point. Somewhere out there, there are 100 Black, Spanish, Native American, Arab, Asian, who worked and studied as hard as you and never got in trouble, but they don't have what you "earned" or achieved. Stop looking at the one person you know who isn't white that achieved as your benchmark. Loo...

Quickie Review - Finding Vivian Maier

While I thoroughly enjoyed the film, especially the first 15-20 minutes, I was a little bothered by the way the film played out. The interviews with the clearly disturbed brother, sister and the mother, who obviously, was in for a cut, didn't need to be in the film. Then the woman who suggested abuse, yet seemed to have her life defined by Maier, as she tried to muster every ounce of emotion and fake guilt. Her friend, more than happy to be party of the charade. People who talk about abuse for the first time, usually don't do so on camera. The fact these scenes were so prominent, shows that they felt wronged that they were not rewarded. Maloof on the other hand, seems to disappear from the documentary during this part, almost hiding away from the fact, he went from complete praise, to even making money off of her, to destroying her personal legacy. He almost mentions the family of boys taking care of her rent, as an afterthought. Her burial spot, never shown, yet a video of her...

If You Listen To One Speech - Lana Wachowski

http://www.rollingstone.com/movies/videos/lana-wachowski-opens-up-about-difficult-past-and-attempted-suicide-20121024 Today I saw a link to a video for a speech by Lana Wachowski.  The last name rung a bell, but I could't put my finger on it. Lana, used to be Larry, one of the writer, director, producers of the Matrix trilogy, V for Vendetta and the upcoming Cloud Atlas.  Lana is transgendered and has "come out" as a woman.  She was being honored by the Human Rights Campaign. I didn't know what to expect when this broad woman with crazy hair and a raspy voice began to speak.  She began with the usual pleasantries and told of her hair dresser. She then tells of her desire to be a quiet person and how hard the success of the Matrix movies made this.  The first ten minutes is telling of how she's not quite ready to be this spokesperson.  Then she speaks about the new movie Cloud Atlas and reveals the heart of the movie and this speech. She states,"The resp...