And so the week begins with a productive outing for the family dog, exercising his daily constitutional right to escapade, resulting in my conditioned, strong urge to jazz my hands. Admittedly, the auto response to deploy Jazz Hands occurs in many routine situations throughout the course of a normal day. Lucky for me, I don't have many days that qualify as normal...though routine seems to be inevitable.
I do not regard this as a negative, aside from the fact that enough abnormality strung together, back to back, forms a new pattern of normal...if you really want to get technical about routines and sequences, that is.
We've been down this road before (reinforcing said inevitable routine argument). Today I will not resist the pattern of life. I shall drink my coffee, I shall exercise my constitutional right, I shall drive eastward, across the bay to the midsize city, I shall time travel, I shall travel through the creative thought sucking portal, I shall deal with numerous bouts of nonsense, I shall commute westward, back across the bay, bound for a small village to melt into the evening, and I shall come to terms with it. As dawn and dusk are certain to bracket our day with familiarity and sequence, I shall embrace this inevitability.
It helps knowing this daily humdrum pattern will be placed on hiatus in the near future...at least for a short while. The details of which, of course, will be made public soon enough. Until then, dawn, commute, nonsense, commute, dusk, repeat. Not necessarily in that particular order.
Today's Jazz Hands conditionally responded.
Day one-hundred and eighty-nine complete.
I do not regard this as a negative, aside from the fact that enough abnormality strung together, back to back, forms a new pattern of normal...if you really want to get technical about routines and sequences, that is.
We've been down this road before (reinforcing said inevitable routine argument). Today I will not resist the pattern of life. I shall drink my coffee, I shall exercise my constitutional right, I shall drive eastward, across the bay to the midsize city, I shall time travel, I shall travel through the creative thought sucking portal, I shall deal with numerous bouts of nonsense, I shall commute westward, back across the bay, bound for a small village to melt into the evening, and I shall come to terms with it. As dawn and dusk are certain to bracket our day with familiarity and sequence, I shall embrace this inevitability.
It helps knowing this daily humdrum pattern will be placed on hiatus in the near future...at least for a short while. The details of which, of course, will be made public soon enough. Until then, dawn, commute, nonsense, commute, dusk, repeat. Not necessarily in that particular order.
Today's Jazz Hands conditionally responded.
Day one-hundred and eighty-nine complete.
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