Friday, March 16, 2012

Underwear of the Habit Hung

The phrase “creatures of habit” never made much sense to me because all creatures have habits. There’s no one and nothing organic in a state of permanent chaos. Still, I understand the need for the phrase. Some people are “overly habituated”, “habit dependent” or “habit hung”. I’m one of those and I’m quite sure it’s not good for me.

I swim every weekday at noon. It’s a routine so engrained that I rarely even check the time. This week, however, I altered my schedule: Drop daughter at school and go swim. No need for the normal morning shower. I’d take care of all that at the gym. Cool. Get up, swap pajamas for clothes, drive to school, drive to the pool and enjoy the rest of the day clean and healthy. This worked so wonderfully on Monday, I continued the practice Tuesday, then Wednesday.

Dress, drive, swim, shower and dress again. Wednesday was different though. The boxer shorts felt so rose petal soft. And they looked so . . . the same. My new routine didn’t include new underwear.

Holy crap do I need to shake things up a bit. Seriously. I’m in a rut so deep I can’t change my shorts. An assassin with my contract could take me out on day two. Good thing I’m not a Colombian drug lord. The DEA could wait by the coffee machine and nab me at 10. There are Roombas with a more diverse life-style than mine.

But no more. From now on it’s going to be like “where’s Michael?” “I don’t know. He might hang-glide in any moment now.” Yeah. I’m going to change. Starting tomorrow. Maybe the day after. I don’t know. I’m going to be unpredictable. For this new creature, even the way I change is going to change.

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