Remembering Rogers' Routine

1. Routine: Noun - a sequence of actions regularly followed; a fixed program.

2. Superstition: Noun - a widely held but unjustified belief in supernatural causation leading to certain consequences of an action or event, or a practice based on such a belief. 

You know, I was thinking today as I got out of the shower after a long day at work, that routines are interesting things.  Every morning when I wake up - which is precisely 10 minutes before my alarm goes off every morning - I go to the bathroom, take out my retainers, brush my teeth, and wash my hair, shortly after turning the morning coffee on.  I then go back into my room, turn my now blaring alarm off, get dressed, and head upstairs for a bit of breakfast, some Bible, and Clash.  I'm able to wake up 1 hour before work because the previous evening, I already packed my lunch, laid out my clothes, premade my coffee, and packed my work bag.  This probably seems perfectly normal to you; you probably have a very similar routine of your own.  But think about this: what if one little thing in your routine gets messed up by something.  Doesn't it make your day get all out of whack?  It does me.

Coffee, order of socks, 

Music before and after,

Certain smiles at certain stops,

Repetition to avoid disaster:

Routine.

What if Mr. Rogers had come in the door singing "Won't you Be My Neighbor" and, instead of taking off his suit coat, promptly gone and changed shoes first?  To be honest - that was the first thought that popped into my mind as I showered this evening.  I think I would have flipped a lid, even as a child.

Why do we have routines?  Some people would probably say that we do repetitious things because we are superstitious.  We don't want that one little thing going wrong or differently to throw off our whole day!  I surely don't.  But then I thought, and thought again as I watched the Mr. Rogers theme song, I think we were blessed with satisfaction in routines because we take comfort in the familiar.  And in the midst of hectic planning for my fiance's upcoming school, or my job, or getting married, or what have you (assuming you're not doing all the same things I'm doing. ;) ), I find immense pleasure and comfort in knowing myself well enough to go through the motions and actually enjoy it.  Do you?

Memory Drawer

Demons come out to play,

Old creaky hinges sway.

They dance in the mind,

To old wounds blind:

Memory Drawer.

There is so much that I could write to you about, but words escape me.  For those of you who don't know, I'm working full time now, and as of today, I'll be married in two months.  I'm back at home for the time being, and the transition hasn't been the easiest for me - I feel as if I'm 16 all over again, except with lots of experiences and history behind me.  College is over with, for heavens sake.  At any rate, I was digging through a drawer in my bed recently that I have reserved for "memory" things, and I stumbled across many artifacts of people I have interacted with in...less than favorable circumstances.  It tore me up a little, and inspired the previous poem.  It's amazing the things that small pictures and poems and bracelets can stir up.

Further, and I'm not sure if it's the transitions or the hard decisions coming up or what, but I've been having nightmares - not bad dreams, as if they are something a little child suffers from - every single night for the past few weeks.  I have a host of reasons why this might be, but as I said, reasoning escapes me at the moment.  All I have for you is this poem.  Perhaps that will better convey to you what I feel.

And perhaps next time I write it will not be so...terrifying.

Standing on the edge of an abyss,

Looking into a cesspool of nightmares,

Forced to choose for a tryst.

Your featherweight dreams drown,

Dread dancing in delight,

Eating away at the edge 

of your consciousness.

A creak, a squeak, the

footsteps of a ghost vanishing

the moment you move your mind

in its direction.

Musings of murder making merry,

Sounds of seduction and sin

suggesting your downfall,

Perspiration pouring,

Heart hammering,

Blackness bombarding your body

with the weight of the wrongdoings

of your life.

Slumber drags your wakeful

eyelids closed against your will;

Sweet sleep laced with terror;

Nightly rest haunted by

ceaseless spectors.