Routine Dependence

I wake up at around noon, starving after eating my last meal 12 hours earlier. Hunger would drive me out of the bed and into the waiting arms of the table where a sumptuous meal had already been prepared by the maid. Since I am the only one who eats at lunchtime, the last word on what's cooking comes from me. When the stomach has been satisfied, I take a hot bath, dress up, and spend half an hour going to work. I often arrive thirty minutes before the start of the shift. Instead of mingling with the colleagues, I head towards the most isolated corner of the floor and pray. I spend 8 hours capriciously predicting someone else's romantic fate. Playing god with one's heart include giving advises about love problems, peppering a dash of hope of a reconciliation that will never happen, and sprinkling drops of wisdom for a weary heart. I am a love doctor by profession, but I still have to learn what true love feels .

Meanwhile, I spend around an hour and a half lifting iron bars and plates in the gym thrice a week; three hours at school basking in the radiance of Mongol and Wendell every Tuesday; four hours every night watching cartoons on Nickelodeon; half a day being an errand boy to my bills on a day-off; an entire weekend night partying, drinking and dining with friends; and none to spend a break at home.

I built my entire system constantly on the move that when I decide to shut myself from the world for one day, I break down and suffer a minor setback of depression.

Funny how an idle mind spawns bone-chilling nightmares that root deep inside one's head. Had I known that I cannot substitute life by playing Sims 2 all day, I would have followed my rigid routine, knowing that my sanity heavily depended on it.