Split Ends.

This is new to me.

Isn’t it unusual how normal somethings in life tend to become? I don’t even think twice about the routine of putting together my outfit for the day. Pants, socks, bottoms, and finally shirt. To do this in any other order would seem chaotic to me, these little routines are what keep us in line when going through the daily activities. Well I think so anyway, you can piss off if you see the world differently because, to be blunt, this is my story not yours, may I add, loser.

The routine of setting an alarm the moment before drifting off to sleep only to wake up just before it booms across the entire house like an airhorn in a tunnel. Deciding how long would be the correct amount of time to lay motionless before forcing the body to sit up and get ready for breakfast. Hobble down the steps which always seem more dangerous in the mornings, like they shrink in order to end my day as quick as possible. Toast and, if it’s going to be a slow day, a tea to go with it. These little treats are what keep me on my toes, without it I feel the cold hand of the Grim reaper would have landed on my shoulder A LOT sooner.

Finding something to watch in this small window of blissful joy as the body has yet to fully awaken and the tasks of the day are still finding their footing through the fog of all my forgotten dreams. Normally it’s something with both humour and facts, to make it feel like I’m learning something.

Toast gone and tea sipped away, now comes the dreaded, going back up the stairs! Makes me shudder thinking of the long and painful travel back up towards the second floor. Shower or just loathsome staring into the mirror as I try to understand how I wasn’t born into a billionaires family, hell I’d take a 2nd cousin 10 times removed at this rate. Unfortunately, I was raised in a barely middle class home. I say barely because we had slightly more pride in the second hand things we had, so we felt slightly above those living around us and keeping that slight edge really made life worth living, apparently.

A shower it is to be, I did try to shower daily but it seemed to land on every other day instead. Music was nearly always playing as it helped me to enjoy the long times alone. As the years go on and on I find shower times become quicker and quicker. Which to me is unusual, as I rather enjoy being in and around water, swimming being my favourite sport to be involved in.

If the day calls for leaving the house then a small routine of moisturiser and combing my hair will become the normal, teeth cleaned and chapstick applied to finish the bathroom time. Straight into the very quick decision of the outfit for the day, tends to be whatever I can see first that is both comfy and clean. My standards for looking good are pretty low these days, showered with clean clothes and bang! James Bond. Poor girls — and boys ;) — don’t stand a chance when I’m walking around.

Once the godly combination of shorts have been mixed with plain black shirt, I like to be around the general public as early as possible, giving the crackheads less time to spawn in at the lonely bench in the middle of the park. The “park” being a bit of grass field with a few kiddie things thrown in the middle. This, of course, is the ultimate place to be asleep and half-drunk half-drugged up, well at least that’s what the local dealer tells me.

Quickly throw on sunglasses, slot headphones into place, attach watch, grab wallet, and obtain keys. Lock the door, walk at a slightly faster pace to the local Spar, head down, scan the shelves for what is needed on the small mental shopping list. Self-checkout is a must for avoiding the awkward small talk, and who knows where I’m supposed to look when waiting for the payment to go through. At an even faster pace, follow the same path back to the front door, now slightly sweating, unlock the door and slowly exhale with relief as no one was given the chance to engage in dialogue.

I see all of these routines as perfectly normal behaviour and the people who try to engage with the public and try to gain some form of friendship are the odd ones.

Now in this tale I have elected to not include a key part of all of these routines, and that is the woman who has had the misfortune of living with me for nearing on 4 years. She is more important than I will ever tell her, though can’t boost her ego too much. No matter what is happening or where we are, she always goes out of her way to make me feel loved and supported more than anyone else.