Routines

Each day begins with a mild sense of dread. So much to do, so little light to do it by, so much uncertainty, so much monotony. Then I'm up, my routine begins, and I just push forward through the steps. I think I have listed them out for you before, so I won't bore you with a re-enumeration.

Sometime at dinner a couple of years ago over the holidays -- we were at Provence with mom and Leslie's family -- the subject of routine came up. Leslie asked and was fascinated by the extent to which my life is run by routine, and I was also a little astonished to see how regular I was in so many things. Under coronavirus it has gotten even more extreme, down to the new habit of changing the cats' food bowls not just when it seems like they are dirty, but Monday and Thursday mornings, to be exact. In fact, as I write that, the only way I can be relatively certain that I didn't change them today is that it's Tuesday. Otherwise, my sense memory of doing it is close enough that it could have been today.

In any case, between the routine tasks of morning reading, populating my task list and writing this much I am well into the work day and have a first meeting of the day at 10, so I'd better hustle off. More later.