Friday, August 2, 2013

The weight of repetition

“Beware of monotony; it's the mother of all the deadly sins.”
I didn’t come up with that. Someone really smart, and really dead, said that a long time ago.

Monotony creeps in and kicks my ass every now and then. I get stuck in ruts. Kind of like the one I’m in right now. Even though I keep myself busy, I sometimes feel like I’m running in place.

I’m not bored. There’s a difference between boredom and apathy. I have stuff to do and my life does include the occasional thrill, but I still go through stages where I just don’t give a shit anymore because it all starts to feel the same.

Over the last few months I’ve been trying really hard to live in the moment and do all the right things. But there are days when those moments get all muddled together and nothing seems to get me anywhere. Frustrating. 

Monotony is a necessity. The same things have to happen every day in order for every day to happen. The sun has to come up and go back down. Your heart has to beat, uneventfully and without interruption. Your brain has to remember where you work and how to get your ass back home. All of this has to happen every single day, the same exact way. If certain things don’t go down as planned, shit gets messed up — or you die. One of the two.

But sometimes the weight of the repetition gets to be a little too heavy to carry around.

And if you’re not careful, it can get you in trouble. When I feel stuck, my mind wanders even more than it already does. The overthinking goes into overdrive. I want to fight routine with my fists.

When things start to get a little stale, I start to get a little restless. When I get restless, I feel like getting a little crazy. When I get a little crazy, there are normally repercussions — sometimes requiring stitches.  

I’ll get out of this rut soon. That’s how these things work. They come and go. I’ll figure out a way to switch things up. Something, or someone, will come along and make me forget about the sameness for a while — make me realize that it all really does mean something. Until then, I’ll try to keep the crazy under control. Or at the very least, wear a helmet.


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