Little Old Me, As Usual

Routines are good. Cool, even. Sometimes I think, I want to be the odd lady down the street that always eats a cheeseburger on Saturdays and waters her plants on Thursday. You know, the regular, the unchanging point in other people's lives. That thing people on first dates always point to in romantic movies and bond over, and then at the end they'll see it again and smile and kiss. It also seems to be a way to be effective. If you always do laundry on Mondays, then laundry will always be done. And it minimizes effort. You'll just do it, because you always do it, and no brain activity is required, no motivation.

Then of course, if you make yourself a creature of habit, you'll be in deep shit if something disturbs those habits. But I have this deep-rooted belief that whatever happens everything will be okay, or it won't but you'll just have to live with it; a type of "fuck-all" attitude that would probably help. I'd get thrown off by breaking habits but would always somehow self-right like one of those toys with round, weighted bottoms.

The issue is that habits are so hard to create. And the world itself seems to work against you. Just when you've decided on a great schedule, someone or something decides to break it. Maybe that's the thing; to make habits, you have to have the stoicism to stick to your habits, even when it's almost impossible. Well damn, I guess my clever plan isn't so clever. It appears you need motivation, to get rid of the need for motivation. Who would've guessed.