The Shaman of the Monotony of Life


Here’s the story of immortality, routine, and lotion.

You may think that someone would have to be monumentally stupid not to wear one’s glasses in a rainstorm so they don’t get wet thus meaning they don’t need to be cleaned, albeit putting that someone at great danger of being run over. Well, you clearly haven’t met me then. Hello, I’m stupid. You see, the problem is, rain dries on my glasses as these huge white dots. And I don’t know why. It doesn’t happen with any other bespectacled human being, does it? You may think that the logical course of action is to get some new specs. But this has happened with my last five pairs, all from different shops. I just don’t think nature likes me very much. So when it’s raining, I can’t wear my glasses. Which is fine until I have to cross a road. And sure, some traffic lights beep at you when the lights turn red, but some don’t. Needless to say, I was nearly hit by five cars this week. Not all at the same time, I must stress that point. You may think that this would make me start wearing them during rainstorms, but they take three hours to clean. THREE! I don’t have three damn hours to spend cleaning spectacles! I’d rather be hit by a car, readers. And no, I’ve never been hit by one before. Although my mum did once run over my foot in her car, but that’s a story for another day…

Now, you might say, “Well, just get the laser surgery.” Oh, gee, I hadn’t thought of that. I can’t have that done. I can’t have anything done. I don’t know why. But it’s the type of thing I think of on the bus to work. Maybe the optometrist doesn’t like me very much. Just like nature doesn’t. Maybe it’s a conspiracy to make me as miserable as possible. Maybe it’s something to do with this ‘consistency of sight’, but that sounds like gibberish to me, so I’m going for Option A. The optometrist doesn’t like me. I would bring up the issue with her but she’s real purty. It’s very hard to bring anything up. I’m still convinced nature doesn’t like me. Remember that time I wasn’t wearing my glasses during that rainstorm and I nearly fell down that huge hole that was being dug for some new pipes? Nature’s fault, that was.

This is the monotony of life, isn’t it? It’s starting to get to me, readers. It’s the same old routine every day, isn’t it? And you can’t escape it. A rainstorm causing me to nearly get run over – one little thing on top other little things that add up to one big monotonous thing.

Every day, I wake up. The same time. The same bed. I open the curtains and head to the bathroom. I stare in the mirror and wonder when I lost my youthful and hunky looks that I never had. Hang on, let me reword that. I stare in the mirror and wonder when I lost that delusion that I was youthful and hunky. Yeah, that’s better. I spend a good 10 minutes plucking various hairs before I sit on the loo and try not to fall asleep for 10 more minutes. That did happen once when I was in school. I got detention for that. “I’m late because I fell asleep on the toilet, sir.” “Ah, did you now, you little shit? And did the dog eat your homework?” “Golly, no, Keith my pet unicorn did.”

That happened as well. No, not the unicorn. I got called a little shit by a few teachers. It’s very common for teachers to swear at kids in this country. Well, that’s what I keep telling myself because they all swore at me…

I go downstairs. I get the same bowl from the same cupboard and put it in the same place on the counter. I get the two Weetabix and put them in the same position as always. I put the same amount of milk in each day. I measure it precisely. And I also do the same for the sugar. Heck, on Sunday gone, I cooked seven sausages and laid them out on the plate in a line, all neat and tidy. Some call me anal. I call me organised. I bet you’d love to live with me, wouldn’t you? I’d be very glad if you did. But if you misalign those sausages, that’s grounds for divorce, in my books…

I go to the bathroom. Brush my teeth in the same way. Straighten my hair in the same way. Wear the same clothes every day. The same shoes. Well, I only have one pair. More than one pair is highly illogical. And I get that same bus from that same stand. All leaky and mouldy. Probably why I’m coughing like a docker. I can’t stop coughing. I think it’s a stress cough. I may have made that up, though.

And I go to work designing stuff. I get the laptop from the cupboard every day and assemble all the pieces in the same way. Every day. And I do the same things. I eat exactly the same lunch. Whilst looking at exactly the same websites. Constantly ignored and not treated like everyone else. Because I’m shy, obviously. And then I leave at the end of the day, waiting for a bus that’s always late. Swiping the same card on the same machine and sitting in the same seat, watching the same vista go by each and every bloody day.

And the next day, it starts again. Same time. Same breakfast. Same straightening. Same bus. Heck, I’ve remembered most of the driver’s faces. I don’t know what they’re called, but I always remember them. Same job. Same old, same old.

Every day bleeds into the next one and they all blend together. I’m a man of routine and order. Of logic and organisation. I don’t what’s going on with me, lately. I used to be rather happy with endless monotony. Now I’m fed up of it. I’m also fed up of the same tight underwear each and every day, but, well, that’s all they sell these days, isn’t it? They think all men like having their nuts squeezed to within an inch of their life…

But I can’t change, can I? What else is there? Travel the world? I get airsick. And really bad, too! I remember how ill I was when I came back from Australia. They thought I had appendicitis! Aye, they don’t tell you long distance travel can give you appendicitis. I mean, it doesn’t, that theory is utter bollocks, but if I told you that, then my theory about air travel being bad for you would lie in tatters. Oh, drat, forget I told you that.

Travel the UK? I can’t. Even leaving my hometown for one second leaves me feeling horribly homesick. Start up some farm like that guy in that book who was shot. I don’t know the book. It’s not important. He had a dog, I think. Imagine me on a farm. I hate being dirty. Think of how much lotion I’d need to repair my skin. THINK OF THE LOTION!

Or I could start a hippy commune and become everything I hate. Or I could accept the tedious droll of life as it marches on toward its inevitable conclusion. Killed by a horny giraffe. It’s a real concern, readers…

It’s very easy to ask, “Is this all there is?” But I’d never ask that question. It’s the type of thing hipsters say before embarking on a ridiculous trek across some remote mountain range in Asia to ‘discover oneself’. Resulting in me having to endure listening to your endless dross about a shaman that showed you the meaning of life. I DON’T CARE, MATILDA!

I suppose what comforts me is that fact that we’re all immortal, aren’t we? No, really. When our solar system dies, the Earth will be consumed by a growing Sun that will, eventually, explode. Whether they were buried in this world or cremated and scattered over it, every human that had ever lived will become trillions of tiny atoms spread for billions of light years across the cosmos. Many will become new material in new stars bringing life to worlds forever more. And some will become part of that new life. Just think about that. An atom in my left toe could become an atom in the body of a new life in 20 billion years time. In a small way, this cycle makes us immortal. And that comforts me.

Lord knows I’ve done nothing in this life and probably never will. I can’t be arsed most of the time to get out of bed, never mind make some radical change. But there could be a piece of me in some distant future in some alien body achieving great things. And I wish him good luck. Take good care of that little piece of me. And be wonderful.

Admittedly, it’s an unusual way to find solace in a life of endless routine, but I’m an unusual person. But you’ve probably figured that out by now.

Of course, knowing how much nature hates me, my atoms will probably be the ones that are vaporised in a couple billion years time.

Damn you, nature! Damn you to hell!

American author, John Steinbeck (1902-1968), once wrote: ‘It’s a hard thing to leave any deeply routine life, even if you hate it.’

Peace Out :|:

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Please feel free check out the latest posts from my other two blogs:

To Contrive & Jive
New Posts Every Sunday, Tuesday and Thursday
Click Here to Read the Latest Post

Hark Around the Words
New Post Every Sunday
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