Groundhog Day

Mo-not-o-ny- wearisome uniformity or lack of variety, as in occupation or scenery.

The concept of a routine (aside from a wicked dance routine) has never appealed to me. It always reminds me of those horrible Folgers’s Commercials where indeed the best part of waking up does not include Folgers’s in your cup. Regardless, my life has become monotonous. I wake up shower, eat, dash to make the train, travel with the masses all while having a scowl on my face and listening to the likes of Jeff Buckley. Monday to Thursday (fortunately) my life mimics that of Groundhog’s Day except I’m not as pretty as Bill Murray; my day starts off with my neighbors blasting horrid disco music and not the likes of Sonny and Cher affectionately calling each other “Babe”, and most importantly, I haven’t tried to kill myself in a variety of clever ways. I do like to think that I make somewhat of a gallant attempt to extend kindness to others. Just think, the other day I only tripped 3 people rather than my usual 7. I find myself involved in my own horror; the proverbial rat race. Except, instead of us all fighting for cheese we are seeking to be next in line at the corner Starbucks.