I broke the routine. I went somewhere else for my morning coffee, and it was shit.

This is why we fall into patterns. But it might have been a wonderful coffee. The fact it was shit might propel me back to my old tried and tested source of wakey-goodness. But this is how we start to switch ourselves off…

The first time we make a journey, even across town to somebody’s home, it feels long. We notice the things on the way. We are alert to the seconds as they pass. Once we’ve made it twenty, forty, a hundred times, it passes in a flash with only the unexpected shocks slowing it down a bit. And more time is lost. More of our precious life is spirited away.

This is why I break the routines. I don’t like it when patterns start to emerge. I don’t want to wear out the same track around the edge of my enclosure. I don’t want the time to rush past. I’d prefer to slowly notice if I can. But it’s hard. Patterns and habits sneak up without you knowing. Looking over it, I think I’m about ten years older than I have experienced, because all that time just fell off somewhere when I wasn’t looking.

And here I am again on a riverbank with the willows and the wood pigeons. I’ll be whacking weasels in the wild woods before long again. And given the number of times we all have to do our scenes, it is a gift that I am trusted to try out new material, and that the audience is allowed to be in random chaotic dialogue with us. It means we don’t lose this in a haze of repetition. Next week, this will be a strange memory. For now though, it’s life. It’s the sharp end of existence. This is now and now is this. But I’ll be asleep when this publishes. I’ll be parsing through the unthought thoughts in my usual fire of brightly lucid dreams and I’m passing the fire of now to you, the reader.

Plus I’m putting this down to talk to Guy.

So yeah… Routine. You gotta be careful of that stuff, he says. But you should always question your sources. Here I am on the same bench, with the same tea, at the same time, writing a blog that I have published every morning for… Oh lord… Let’s look… For 1667 days, not including this one.

But yeah. I dunno. I haven’t got a concrete point here. Routine deadens. But sometimes if you just break it for the sake of it, you end up with a shit cup of coffee.

Here comes the audience. Badger face on. Phone on silent in the pocket. Let’s all look at the beautiful river and pretend to be badger-scouts. Etc.

Until tomorrow…

I always fall in his hole in the grass as well. I know very well that is there. But in I go. Safely somehow. But in.

Author: albarclay

This blog is a work of creative writing. Do not mistake it for truth. All opinions are mine and not that of my numerous employers.

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