Journal 30 Routine

I've spent the day by myself, the only talking I've done has been on the phone, to my mom, my sister, my boyfriend. A few text messages here and there to friends, a few emails.
I haven't even felt like exploring the news, I've caught up with magazines, instead, perched at my breakfast bar, doing my 'combination' activity, where I have the tv on to a show that is mildly interesting, while I flip through the pages of a magazine, or read a book, and sometimes as I sit there, I mentally leave, I'm staring out the window, shafts of sunlight streaming in vertically, the early evening, rain passing by.
I even skipped church. But what I've really skipped today was people. Their neuroses, their needs, their wants. I did my standard Saturday morning routine, Starbucks, a tan, a long run, and when I got home, by about noon, I couldn't think of anything else I wanted to do. Go to a movie, maybe, but again, the people factor. No. Can't do it.
Instead, I ate a remarkably early dinner, and poof...here I am, writing again, writing for practice, while I gear up for my real writing, which doesn't really happen anymore here on this blog.
This is still just my online journal, the kind of laundry list diary, "I did this, I went here, I felt this"....as real as it can be, as real as I let it be, it's still not all really on here. It couldn't be. I would cease to exist.
Instead, I let it be my little space to unwind and prepare.
I finished dinner, a movie on in the background, and I loaded the dishwasher, putting my coffee cup and favourite wine glass in side by side. I thought about how tumultuous my work-week had been, the stories of my co-workers, how compelled they felt to share things, and how it felt to me like they were just burdening me more than I already am. Then I straightened my shoulders and reminded myself of what, exactly, the role of 'pillar' is. A support in a way. Holding something up.
I thought about my boyfriend, in his far-off state of Maine, working away, taking life at such a different pace, and I'm reminded I get to set the pace of my life, too.
It doesn't have to be break-neck.
A reading at a friend's house last night reminded me to be courageous, and to nurture--I take this to mean both myself and others. The final card, featuring the angel of death with wings out-spanned, reminded me of the real source of my desire to conceal myself, to hide from the world, and all its demands. My melancholia, disguised as simple social withdrawal. But it serves its' purpose for me, it always has, allowing me to retain strength, save it up like animals save up food for winter. The first time I thought about how I do that I thought about how crazy it sounded.
But sitting here typing in my exercise pants it feels the farthest thing from crazy as I could possibly be, it seems sane, it seems healthy, and it fulfills my need for 'safety'.
So here is my latest in the laundry list, I ate chicken and asparagus, I'm having Australian chardonnay, the days are as long, the sun is still up, even now just before 8 pm, and I scrubbed my bathroom today, after my run, after soaking my running clothes.
See? Boring.
But really, routine is so much more than we care to give it credit for.