Bookmark #813

The day has long since ended, but as long as I am awake, I can still write for today. For all intents and purposes, I am still thinking about the things that were on my mind until two hours ago when the clock struck midnight. What does the clock have on these words anyway? This is, after all, a deeply personal venture.

Earlier today, as I realised some irritation growing in me because of an impending trip, it was pointed out to me that my habitual unwillingness to visit other people, regardless of the reasons for their invitation, always falters in front of the fact that I go there anyway, but that I do not go there quietly. I throw a tantrum, and I bitch and moan about it. It is true, of course, and for good reason. The reason, as it always stands, is that my own life often gets derailed owing to an invitation. When I return and rest my bags on the floor, there is dust not just on the desk or covers but on the routine I so passionately adore. To make a life you enjoy waking up to is a never-ending exercise in consistency. It stands then that a trip I did not plan for would hinder the flow of my days, would spray water over the minute adjustments I have made in the days before the trip, which I will inevitably lose track of by the time I return.

But alas, I know myself too well. I will go there and have a merry time and come back and cry about it. This is a film I have watched enough times to know every frame of it by heart.

Creatures of habit do not pick and choose what they are bound to repeat. People like me—those who swear by their ability to repeat things—are no masters of their fate. We are but a set of instructions, like a script or a program. This, too, I am deeply aware of. I am bound to repeat all things major and minor. I make coffee a certain way no matter how much I try to change it, and I fall in love the same way, no matter how many times I try, too.

Continually, I find that people get on my nerves, and continually, I find it in me to get out and visit them still. Bound to go in circles, here I sit, writing two hours after midnight for a habit is a habit, and once you find yourself caught in it, there is little anyone can do to get you out.

// if you want to support this walk to nowhere, you can pitch in here