Tuesdays...

...sometimes change. It's odd, and doesn't happen often, but some Tuesdays are not like the others. This Tuesday is one of those. Instead of just going to my friend's house, we're going out shopping.

Now, I have certain issues with shopping. It's an enjoyable enough pastime most of the time, or when I have money, and especially good when I actually have something to shop for. However, when I'm feeling unsociable, or lacking funds, or simply not in the mood for new things (don't laugh! it can happen!), shopping becomes a trial of sorts. I'm prone to minor fits of flipping out in department stores, in particular. I just don't like they way they smell, or the implications of affluence that they often carry. On the other hand, I'm always ready to pore through a bookstore, sometimes for hours.

I love bookstores, especially small, unique, or used bookstores. Chains don't thrill me in the same way and I almost never set foot in a Barnes & Noble.

Ah, I must away--my workplace calls. But tonight, shopping with friends instead of watching mindless and violent television programmes.

It's a beautiful thing.

Hours passing.

I am screaming in full colour and holding my head in my hands.

Patterning after things?

Rather than going to work immediately, (I'm not even dressed yet--I'm guaranteed late no matter what I do at this point.) I've made the absurd choice to consider my habit of doing things in patterns, in rhythms, in repeated cycles. And then breaking them, rather deliberately.

I do this with a vast range of subjects--eating, dressing, writing, drawing, my studies, my friends--the list could go on.

It almost amounts to a mania of sorts, or nearly obsessive-compulsive behaviour. If I think about it, I can trace it back many, many years. I've done it since I was a small child, and it seems to be harmless, indeed, most people don't seem to notice it.

This bears thinking upon. Perhaps I'll write more here later. As it is, I don't want to be too late for work.

(bah. work.)

The thing about cramps---

That is to say, the thing about cramps, is that they always hit just as you're about to do something important, such as saying "Yes, your order is ready," to the President of Someplace Important or agreeing to stop launching cucumbers at your little sister. You're ready, you're primed, you're just about to do this important thing, and then wham you're knocked for a hell of a loop by a sudden knotting of your muscles in whatever area you suffer from cramps in.

It's enough to make a person want to kill the idea of cramps altogether.
Just...knock it dead.

Ah, but I'm feeling better now.