What bores me, you ask?

I saw a writing prompt on this blogging platform earlier today. The question was simple: What bores you?

For me, that’s an easy one. My answer has never wavered: routine.

Nothing — and I do mean nothing — drains the color out of life faster than having identical days stacked neatly on top of each other like those sad beige file folders. And the ironic part? I am, in fact, living a near-perfect replica of the same day, five times a week. Same schedule, same obligations, same annoying alarm clock every morning.

There was a time when I was an expert at escaping monotony. I could afford to be spontaneous. I could follow whims. I could decide at 4:36 p.m. that I was absolutely meant to be somewhere else, doing something entirely different, and then simply…go. That’s always been my ideal lifestyle: wind-directed, lightly buzzed, and gloriously unscheduled.

These days, however, routine and I are in a long-term, legally binding relationship. Yikes.

So does that mean I’m bored every day? Surprisingly, no. In fact, I’m not sure I even fully understand boredom. I suspect it’s something like waiting in line at the DMV without your phone or a notebook. 

Every now and then, I manage to tweak my days. Tweak being the keyword. My work hours are immovable, which means my bedtime is less a choice and more a contractual obligation. Yes, I could go to sleep later. But the next day I would resemble a haunted Victorian child and function accordingly. Since I have to be physically present in a classroom every weekday (remote work is but a shimmering mirage), certain details are non-negotiable. Those, I leave alone. But what I can change, I absolutely do!

For example, I might take a different route home, just to feel something. If possible, I’ll walk part of the way, pretending I’m the main character in an indie film about self-discovery and comfortable shoes. Some evenings I order delivery instead of cooking; other nights I go out entirely — because sometimes the greatest act of rebellion is not washing dishes.

Some days I dance. Other days I do yoga. And I always, always, write.

These small variations keep me sane. They add just enough of a curve to the straight line of routine to keep life from feeling like a photocopy. It’s not a dramatic reinvention, but it’s what I’ve got to work with.

I’ll admit it, following a routine has been helpful at times. Routine is excellent for children and the elderly. For me? Bores me to death. So I’ll keep bending it where I can, sidestepping it where possible, and occasionally giving it a dramatic side-eye — just to make sure it remembers I’ll follow that contract, but on my own terms.