snowball

It often takes the slightest of events to trigger my train of thought. Today, I found myself compelled to pick up a book and read as I often do when I run into a moment of boredom. I looked about, spotted a pile of books I have yet to read or are midway through reading them, quite obviously ignored them, and reached for Time Traveler's Wife which was on my chair and started reading about Henry's first time traveling adventure in the Field Museum of Natural History. It took me a second to register what I was doing, and then I put the book down and made a mental note to talk about it later as a reflection of how I operate.

I think Mag of all people would notice that I have old favorites that I return to. She notices that I like to stick to routines and if I am bothered or if something changes in the least, I get agitated and possibly even upset. That's not to say I'm inflexible - I'm rather agreeable when it comes to things I don't have a prior setup for, but if I have a specific way of doing things that I have found to be effective, I will revert to that method and will be less willing to explore novel means of achieving the same end product.

Let us explore: I always make the same meals and am hesitant to explore new culinary avenues unless I have a good idea in my mind of how it will end up. No matter what beers I try, I always eventually return to Canadian or, more recently, Keith's pale ale. I put new albums on my mp3 player but tend to just listen to the same two or three albums I always listen to. Whenever I feel the least bit dirty, I shower. It's a terrible habit that dries out my skin really bad but I can't get away from it. I also brush my teeth and Listerine (esp. the latter!) several times a day if I'm feeling gross orally. If I am not allowed to do these things, I get grumpy and even belligerent (Mag can attest).

I mean these are just a few things. I love installing old games that I love like Quake 3 and Raptor and Hugo's House of Horrors. I call Mag's number for no reason at all sometimes just to hear her familiar voice, even though I make up some excuse about what time she gets off work when I know it's 3:45 PM. Sometimes when I feel stupid I read old neuro notes because the brain is something I am comfortable with and has been my only ballast through my tumultuous University education. I own anthologies and yet I always read the same short stories, the same poems, and am usually drawn to the same lines every single time. When I sketch freehand on my notes when I'm bored in class it's either a swirling brain-type pattern, stick figures killing themselves, robots, or Pochacco (only because Mag taught me how to draw him).

Is it comfort that I turn to these constants in my life? Or is it desperation - that I am so secretly afraid of the unknown that I grab whatever is closest to me?

***

reach for me
don't wanna wait another day without you
take me to higher ground
we'll be safe and sound
reach for me