Sunday Evening (2)

Ah. Sunday evening, again. Still. Take Infinity. Etc.

Because the wonderful thing about life is that it Keeps Going. And although it is terribly bourgeosie to measure time in weekends and weeks, neither is it right to sneer at such an inclination just on principle. It's simple and stark, yes, and Terribly Routine, but it's only limiting if you find routine limiting. And that's the general post-modern idea, isn't it, that Routine is Terribly Limiting and should be Avoided At All Costs?

Well.

Let me tell you that at a time in my life in which I have moved, on average, every five months, and dated six different men, and not known which way was up half the time, being in love with my job some weeks and ready to give up the next, making plans to join the Peace Corps one week and deciding to become a teacher the next week and planning to move to Tahiti the week after (this last one is just wishful thinking), and starting and failing to finish a spanish class and starting and dropping out of a dance class and, and, and...

Well.

I am reveling in the routines I have left. I am reveling in going to work, Monday through Friday, because I know what I do there. And I am reveling in coming home and maybe pouring a glass of digestive (read: red wine) and kicking off my shoes and washing a few dishes and maybe starting a load of laundry and maybe settling into TV on DVD, because it is wonderful and relaxing and most importantly, routine.

Routine. My savior. Life CAN be measured in days, in Sundays, in Fridays, and I can see from this blog that I have begun to do this almost exclusively, as a way of passing the time, and I believe that I am doing this because my life IS so changeable, everywhere else, because the one thing I cannot change is my order of days. Monday always comes after Sunday, a weekend always follows a week, water always flows downhill, we will always have to pay taxes.

God Bless America.