The Routine is M.I.A.

Boston Red Sox 3^rd baseman Wade Boggs would eat chicken before every game.  He’d also take exactly 150 ground balls during infield practice, and would enter the batting cage at exactly 5:17.  Chicago Cubs relief pitcher Turk Wendell would brush his teeth in between innings and he always jumped over the baseline when running to and from the dugout.  Chicago Bulls great Michael Jordan always wore his North Carolina Tar heels shorts under his Bulls shorts. 

Now while this may be nothing more than great examples of athletes being superstitious, I’d argue that this is as much about routines than anything else.  I think most professional athletes are obsessively compulsive about their routines.  And you know why. . . because a good routine can keep you going.  It can keep you sane.  It can give you purpose.  A good routine can get you through the day.

Which is why I’m so lost at the moment.  My daily routine has been shot down.  My routine is M.I.A.

Granted it’s not like my old routine was something worth bragging about.  It wasn’t.  But damnit it was MY ROUTINE!

It usually started at 6:00 AM when I’d drive myself to the YMCA to work out.  Now I won’t lie, sometimes those “work outs” were nothing more than me sitting in the steam shower.  And that would only last until some nude guy would walk in there and strike up a conversation.  I don’t want to talk to people when they’re fully clothed, so I sure as shit don’t want to talk to some guy whose hairy balls are just a few feet away from me. 

From there I would head to Dunkin Donuts and order my usual #2.  From there I’d drive in to work.  I’d check e-mails (responding only to those that were urgent or had porn attached).  Checked voice mail (responding only to those that were urgent or were from someone who may later e-mail me porn), and then got to work.  At some point I’d have to fight off the advances of one of my coworkers who was quite fond of me (the same coworker whose husband wanted to beat me up because she had told him that I was hitting on her – I know – this all sounds made up – it’s not – totally true – like I said, it’s not a routine that I was bragging about).  For lunch I’d either take some clients out or I’d join coworkers at a local restaurant.  Later in the afternoon I’d have to kiss up to my production manager, often times by offering him a date with my sister in order to get sufficient manpower assigned to my jobs (he had unfortunately met my sister at my mother-in-law’s wake a few months ago and wanted nothing more than a date with her – and he talked about it constantly – in detail – in gross detail – he by the way was married with two children . . . I know. . . trust me I know. . . spent four years there. . . four long years) and then I’d make final client phone calls and send a few final e-mails before heading out for the day.

It was a twisted, strange, ugly routine, but it was mine, and I had it working like a well-oiled machine.  In fact, frankly if it weren’t for the routine I would NEVER have survived working there for four years.

Now believe it or not, even though I no longer have the weirdness and corruption in my life, I am literally lost.  I have too much free time on my hands (boy never thought I’d say that . . . that’s like me saying “those boobs are too big”) and no set routine to help me manage that time.

I now wake up and get the kids to school.  This could sadly be the highlight of the day as it not only offers me a little bit of a challenge, but also gives me something to look forward to, which, of course, is an empty house.  Then again, once I come home to that empty house I have little else going on.  I make some coffee, pour myself a bowl of cereal (the Honey Nut Cheerios lasted all of three days . . . I just can’t do it anymore . . . replaced it with Lucky Charms and Coco Puffs) and read the sports page.  Take the dog on a long walk.  Pray that there’s an e-mail or two waiting for me.  Send out some resumes (though my available contacts are dwindling . . . I’ve pretty much already reached out to all those people who might actually help me get a job . . . at this point I’m sending out resumes to people who once helped my neighbor’s cousin’s friend get a job six years ago), and then sit around thinking about blogs or arranging carpools to and from soccer and baseball practice.  I hit the YMCA at some point (less nude dudes in the steam shower after about 9:00 AM – good), and then wait for the kids to get home.

This is what I have now.  This is the routine.  Yesterday I went to the hardware store to buy a new light bulb and I found myself talking to one of the employees about the various types of light bulbs.  It was a 10 minute conversation.  About light bulbs. 

You know, the Talking Heads once wrote:

And you may find yourself living in a shotgun shack.  And you may find yourself in another part of the world.  And you may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile.  And you may find yourself in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife.  And you may ask yourself – Well. . . . How did I get here?

Yep . . . . . . pretty much every day now.