I couldn’t say for sure if it were a good thing or a bad thing, but I was a profoundly boring person. Boring, not because there wasn’t anything interesting about me, rather in the way I did anything. I had an immense capacity to do things in the same manner. I’d wear the same clothes, eat the same food, have the same disposition, enjoy the same things, and repeat it all in the same order of steps as I’d do every day. It was an odd freedom.
People would often ask me questions like, “Don’t you get tired of the same breakfast every day?” and I’d just say, “No, I don’t”. It was this system that dictated everything from the colour of the shirt I’d wear — I didn’t have any patterned ones — to setting up the coasters on my table in the same motion every time I used them to making sure everything was kept in the same place.
There were changes, of course, but it was more or less the same. I enjoyed it. I could never understand why others couldn’t, and so I kept thinking about it all the time. I’m still not sure if it’s a good thing or a bad thing, but I guess it doesn’t matter. I enjoyed it because it made things easier. It was the consistency that brought me back to the center; it brought me back home.
No matter what would happen, I could come back to my system. It wasn’t the only way to fix things, but it was the one I preferred. It made sense, somehow, and helped me make sense of things. In the end, I guess, we all have our own tiny insanities.