Today began like many others where routine reigned supreme, right up until it didn't. Whilst engaged in said routine, other less routine events that never used to be routine have suddenly imposed their unroutine will into my otherwise routineness, making today's routine a little less routine but ultimately becoming more and more part of my daily routine.
Here's the long version of today's story:
Regrettably, skinny coffee drinking is now a morning fixture of mine. To recap: This is not done for aesthetic enjoyment. It's just that I have become somewhat of a multitasker, is all. Why should I abbreviate the enjoyment of my morning coffee beverage JUST because it's time to get ready for work? The abandonment of fulfillment would be heretical. It would be an obscene deviation from the Royal Jazz Hands, to say the very least. Plus, there is a perfectly situated ledge in the shower area, as if built specifically for the placement of a ceramic mug upon during the body cleansing process.
Regrettably, skinny coffee drinking is now a morning fixture of mine. To recap: This is not done for aesthetic enjoyment. It's just that I have become somewhat of a multitasker, is all. Why should I abbreviate the enjoyment of my morning coffee beverage JUST because it's time to get ready for work? The abandonment of fulfillment would be heretical. It would be an obscene deviation from the Royal Jazz Hands, to say the very least. Plus, there is a perfectly situated ledge in the shower area, as if built specifically for the placement of a ceramic mug upon during the body cleansing process.
Another portion of my morning routine is the hand jazzing, of course. Nothing special regarding today's specific deployment that I can speak of, although I was rather underdressed for the occasion and had one hand on my ceramic resume, which makes today's specific deployment the "Impaired Jazz Hands" variety.
Naked and impaired, just like I came into this world, and most likely how I'll leave it. So this routine of mine is something of a microcosm of the cycle of life.
Yes. That is a stretch. But it was once believed to be a stretch that I deploy Jazz Hands every single day for an entire calendar year and report about such activity (and activities related to the deployment, regardless of how loosely they are related) and here we sit today, 43 days away from completing the ambitious mission. Therefor, likening my naked coffee jazz handing morning routine to the cycle of life should not actually be considered much of a stretch, relatively speaking.
Is there such a thing as sporadic routine? The surprising nature of a sporadic event should render it routine deviation...but if it happens enough, the deviation from routine would then become part of the routine itself, surprising or not.
The clicking sound of a plastic toy. And then followed by a winding noise...also plasticky in nature, strikes again, breaking the pattern of an otherwise uneventful morning.
I've heard this noise before, sporadically. The noise carries with it a vague familiarity, though I can't quite put my finger on it.
I put down my ceramic pacifier and look around. Nothing down the hall, nothing in the closet, nothing in the shower stall, nothing, nothing, n-o-t-h-i-n-g...not outside nor inside not in a box nor with a fox, and if a fox were to make a noise of any kind, it is certainly far from what a fox might say, I can only imagine.
I pass it off as the variety of noises that occur only inside of my head. These noises are for me and only me...and of course, documented for your informative annoyance.
The short version of this story: I deployed a rather routine version of Jazz Hands this morning, but was interrupted by a routine deviant, which is now becoming relatively routine in and of its deviant self.
Day three-hundred and twenty-two complete.
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