Routine

Every night, before I head to bed, or at least to the shower, I sit out on the lanai…our tiny front porch balcony. Glass of water, or wine. Occasionally a guilty cigarette…a habit long abandoned...that still sneaks back upon me with reckless abandon…with its tenacious grip whenever I’m stressed or lonely. Sitting there in the cool breeze of the early evening. Listening to the quiet thump, thump thump of my bare-chested neighbors throwing darts. At times I’ve been tempted to shout from my second story perch over their fence if I could join them. But that would interrupt their evening routine. Every night there the two stand. Thump thump thump, as thin metal stakes plunge into soft cork.

I never gave much thought to routine. Often I despised the thought. Much of my life has been dictated by it to some extent.I thought I'd relish being able to break away from other's regimes. Class schedules, rehearsals, work hours. The commute, catching the same bus, walking the same route. But now I’m no longer guided by the strict hours school. Now only work requires I fulfill some 8 hours a day as I see fit. Or however long it takes me to complete the tasks at hand.

But I’ve found, while the hours may vary from day to day, the routine now stays the same. And there’s some comfort in that. It allows spontaneity to become all the more a treat. And lends familiarity to the yet unfamiliar. And of course I fail horribly at the obsessive compulsive tendencies...there is never any rigidity to my sequence of tasks.

Every morning. Curse the alarm clock. Sometimes it manages to rouse me by 6am. Other days, it may be closer to 8. But rouse it does. Bathroom, wash my face. To the kitchen to boil water for coffee. Dress. Begin to make breakfast. And chop a salad for lunch if I hadn’t done so the night before. Breakfast ready I sit before the Today Show…mind numbing background noise with the occasional bit of noteworthy news. Mostly I seat and eat waiting for the weather…waiting for the cheerful blonde to tell me it's yet again sunny, partly cloudy, 70’s, with a chance of windward showers. My computer rests on my thigh slowly sighing itself on as I finish eating. Cat nestled against my side. I peruse my email briefly. Mostly junk. Some mornings I may find myself inspired to jot a note down here. Mostly I want to check up and see what revelations other friends may have posted already. Only two fellow bloggers really manage to keep up.

Usually the morning ends with a curse when I realize how late it is already. I rush to don makeup and run through the final check list…keys…day planner…wallet…the binder for whatever show I’m stressing over at the moment…always forgetting something. And out the door for the 30 minute walk. Usually sometime around 8:20. Getting me to work just before 9am.

And the routine continues. I pass the same two teenage boys dressed in black slacks and white dress shirts. Presumably recruiting for Jesus. I smile at the tiny Japanese man pushing his even tinier terrier in a stroller. Though occasionally the pup is full of energy; sniffing out every bit of sidewalk under the command of its own four legs. Past the post office. The McDonald’s and Burger King glowering at each other from across the street. The gas station where on occasion I’ll purchase a cup of Kona coffee. Past the Art Academy. Public Works. The never ending construction on Beretania. The same gentleman huddled in a bundle on the bus stop. The Capital Building. And finally past St. Andrew’s Cathedral and the theatre…towards the school that houses the costume shop.

Up three flights of stares past rude middle schoolers. Air on, bag down. One look around. And to work. Work always varies from day to day. Today was finishing hems on bowling shirts. Tomorrow will be fittings. The work itself always varies.

And regardless of what time I seem to leave, I never seem to make it home until sometime between 6:30 and 7. Maybe working later than usual. Sometimes taking a slight detour in the route for a change of scenery. Often running errands…buying groceries or stopping by the fabric store for a forgotten but needed item for the next day.

And home again. Dinner. Prepared fresh or reheated. Sometimes a bit of TV, though rarely. Check email once more. Maybe a bit of paperwork for the next day. A phone call or text to keep in touch with those not so close…and a few who are but choose to maintain some barrier of distance. Read a few chapters. And onto the lanai.

Thump thump thump.

They’ll be at it until nearly midnight.