It’s worrying when you realize the only parts of your life that are everyday routines are:
– being temporarily woken up at about 10.30 am because the cleaning lady comes into your room to clear the wastepaper basket. In an attempt to force yourself to wake up earlier, you’ve purposely left the basket inside so she has to come in and wake you up. Despite these noble intentions you then go back to sleep and don’t wake up until it’s at least noon. You chastise yourself for this every day, but none of that makes a difference when you’ve got a snuggly duvet and you went to sleep at 6 am.
– reading The Guardian, The Daily Telegraph and The Times plus all their little subsections, for no reason other than the fact that they’re there in the common room, and textbooks are up in your room
– putting on specially chosen music which you’ve decided is suitable for falling asleep to, when you switch off the lights and get into bed (last night: Yo La Tengo, And Then Nothing Turned Itself Inside Out). At 6 am, as I’ve said…
These are pretty much the only things I do without a doubt on a daily basis at a specific time each day. Meals no longer have definite names that correspond to their time of consumption or substance, and work is a four letter word.