Pollyana Cowgirl

Of phonecalls and smses

Routine.

And even feelings can become routine. I have my routines; every morning, when I return home from work, before I go to bed and of course, my beauty routine.

I am very aware that there can be a routine to feelings. I miss my family (the most) at approximately 5:30pm on Sundays. I start to feel a bit edgy, I try to deflect the uneasiness of being away from them, I try to ignore the annoyance that crawls on my skin. I get annoyed when I can`t have the things or people I want to be with. I do things. I read, I try to sleep and I even watch a little television. All I want is to be at home, enjoying our pre-dinner chat, munching on snacks with Mal... and feeling the familiar warmth of family.

It has been bugging me a little. How feelings acquired can easily be displaced because it has become a routine? I feel all gossipy when I meet Ginger and the rest of the duckies, I feel nostalgic when I meet Luke, I feel like a lady when Emilia comes along and I feel safe and protected with Siao. With family, feelings are routine, but that routine brings security. The dreaded routine of work, when I shut out the dread of marking, when I eradicate the pain of doing the things I don`t want to do. But, when feelings for a person feels like a routine... then.

Last night, I recieved a phone call from someone familiar. Uncannily familiar, but also strangely foreign. It has been a long, long while since we last spoke and to see his name flash on my mobile... I hiccuped. That is strange. Actual hiccups.

The conversation flowed easily, like how two people who have known each other for years talk, laugh and confide. But, it was also distant. Updates of our lives were one-liners, cursory questions about mutual friends, family members and even the state of our hobbies. How queer. The proverbial question was waiting to be asked. He asked, I answered. With a lump in my throat, how else could I have dealt with the situation then to be entirely honest?

Like a routine, we promised to keep in touch, to take care, to visit. I guess our conversations will always end that way. Promises that are always waiting to be kept. Will we ever visit? The fear of seeing each other face-to-face almost brings about suicidal thoughts. Like a routine, I feel the same flood of feelings I always feel after speaking to him. Like a routine, I try to validify my emotions, I try to pin them to some explanation, a practical solution even. I deride all possibilities that account for the way I feel whenever he comes in to play. Play with my mind but not my heart.

That is out of bounds.

It has been a routine. The same 'what-ifs', the same 'whys', the same 'it could have beens'.

Like a routine, questions are never answered.
And like a routine, I had a sleepless night, sob a little and confided in the only one person who knows how I really feel.

Routines are bad habits.
Send me a card.
Buy me a present.
And perhaps, when I mean enough, you tell me how you feel. No routines though.

posted by Poot @ 1:26 PM