Everyone has a routine. I certainly have a routine that I repeat day in and day out. Weeks at a time, months at a time… years? Brrr…
Also known as, “a rut.” Once in it, it’s hard to see out of it.
It starts off the same way, each and every day. I roll out of bed to the alarm on my cell phone. 5:25 am. I sleep to the classical music station on the radio at night, but by this time in the morning, National Public Radio is broadcasting the early morning news. Usually something about terrorists bombing the shit out of something, or Israel bombing the shit out of the Palestinians, or something that got blown up in Iraq, Afghanistan or Africa. I listen to that for a bit before I reluctantly drag myself out of my warm bed. Then I run into the bathroom and slap water and soap on my face and quickly brush. I then log on the internet and check out the Desteni forum and my email. Then I get my clothes on and rush out to the meet the bus, which seems to have an annoying habit of running a couple of minutes early when I’m late to reach the bus stop. Grrr… Then I settle in for the half hour bus ride to work (which only three miles away) that slowly snakes its way around the university campus. I am bored during the ride and am annoyed that it takes so long to get to work, so to keep from getting annoyed, I either call Denise in Florida to chat for a bit or I play Tetris on my cell phone. Not only do I play Tetris on my cell phone, I play a saved game over and over again. It occurs to me now that this is really sad.
At work. Okay, I walk up to the great building, dodging the poo left by the enormous flock of Canadian Geese that has made the yard home. I get inside, wave “hello” to the guard at the desk, and head for the cafeteria. Ah, what kind of coffee shall we have today? Nope. It’s always the same: the medium Dark Roast with two little creamers (Southern Pecan or Vanilla).
Now here’s where I allow myself to go crazy. I either will get an everything bagel with veggie cream cheese, or a doughnut or a muffin (chocolate chip or cranberry walnut). Today I went for the blueberry muffin. I told you I go crazy!
Then I take my breakfast to my desk, usually the library elevator. I will settle in my desk, turn on the computer and listen to the news on the BBC. It’s the only channel I can get because my work has filtered anything “streaming” audio, video, “alternate journals” and “entertainment” sites. Don’t know why BBC comes thru. But I will sit and eat and listen to the Beeb.
After about fifteen minutes to a half hour, I begin my workday. I’m working on a project that is converting the library from an old system to a new one. It is repetitive and boring. But the people I work with are nice. We engage in small talk. I work until lunch, which I usually take, and afterwards, return to my desk. Repeat until I’ve put in ten hours.
Then it’s on with the coat and hat, and out to the street to the bus stop where I wait for the bus to come. For some reason, I manage to miss the bus going home at least once a week. Then the long, winding route back through the university campus to my apartment house.
I check the mail and walk up the stairs to my small one bedroom apartment. It’s a very old building, built in the mid-1910s, the Charwalde. It sort of looks like a swiss chalet, somewhat. It’s in pretty poor shape for a building, but since my last divorce, it’s been home.
I get on the computer and check some more emails and chats. Then I’ll think about making dinner. Afterwards, the rest of the night belongs to my writing. Which I will do until an hour before bedtime. Chat on the phone with Denise, again. I’ll get a snack and get ready for bed. About midnight. And you know what happens after that!
That’s my routine. It sounds like I don’t have much of a life, but it is pretty much mine, and it is what it is.
However, today brought me a little surprise that shook me out of my routine. \
The bus driver hit a car and knocked a side view mirror off of a car on the ride home. He claims he didn’t hear that gigantic THUMP sound at the rear of the bus, but I did, but I didn’t say anything. I guess I didn’t want to get the driver in more trouble (???) Anyway, I secured a transfer and walked up to High Street to catch the no. 18, home. Then I had to run a quick errand, so I got out the bike and hoofed it. So, there you have it. An almost routine-filled-day!
Seriously, I told that story to tell you this one: Routines are the mind system’s best friend. You gotta break them up somehow. I realize that it makes me lazier than I want to be. It’s like there’s a contour in my world where my mind naturally settles in. This can’t go on this way… It’s tough because I know I’m going to write at night. But some other things can change… I just know it.
A forgiveness list
I forgive myself for allowing myself to think that I experience “boredom.”
I forgive myself for allowing myself to yawn right as I am doing this forgiveness.
I forgive myself for allowing myself to get into a routine.
I forgive myself for allowing myself to define me as a routine.
I forgive myself for allowing myself for getting “tired.”
I forgive myself for allowing myself to experiencing “tiredness.”
I forgive myself for allowing myself to become irritated when my routine is broken up, because then I won’t be so susceptible to the mind’s lulling me into a habitual lies dreaming of the unified field.
I forgive myself for not allowing myself to tell the bus driver that I did hear him hit that side-view mirror. I know I should have, but I didn’t want to get involved.
I forgive myself for not allowing myself to “get involved” with the driver’s problem.
I forgive myself for allowing myself not to say anything because nobody else was saying anything,
That’s all, folks…