Taming Life

Broken Routine

Routine is good. If you have a routine, you always know what's coming next. You won't be surprised by anything, or late for anything that happens. There won't be any change, routine is predictable and comfortable. I liked routine.

I could have told you how pretty much every day had happened in summer for me. I'd sleep in and wake up at about 11 (which according to my older brother Michael was not a lie in-however he mostly woke up mid-afternoon), then I'd have some kind of lunch as I have never been the kind of person to have breakfast. After that, I would either read one of my books, work on my massive list of school work, or write something of my own. I liked to write a lot, everything from poems to short stories. I enjoyed writing essays, depending on the subject, which my class mates would strongly judge me for if they knew but they did that enough already. All of my school essays were done first; the rest of my homework very slowly was completed over the summer. I would go for dinner at about half past six every evening, and then continue whatever I had been doing before that in the evening. I'd usually stay up late reading or watching things on Netflix, I was the kind of person who would "just read one more chapter" or "just watch one more episode" until I could see the sun coming up and would force myself to go to sleep.

Some days my parents would force me and my brother to go to family events or take us out to the beach or various other days out. Neither of us would want to be there very much but at least the car rides were enjoyable, I could sit there and listen to music and just stare out of the window at the world around me.

The only day where anything really varied was when I had work. Every Saturday I would wake up at 8 and go to start my shift at the café in the village. I was a waitress there, and the job wasn't so bad. My boss was kind enough, and paid me more than the minimum wage for someone my age. The other waitresses could be a little ditsy so I'd help out quite a lot, but I didn't mind. They never really spoke to me, which I was used to. On my break I would eat my lunch and listen to music, sometimes reading books. When my shift ended at 4 I would walk home and then continue the day like I would on any other day.

You could definitely say that, compared to other fifteen year old girls, I was not exactly the most interesting. And you might wonder about my social life. Well, it was pretty much non-existent. I had only ever had one real friend, her name was Maya and we had been best friends during primary school. We used to do everything together, our parents would laugh and joke that we were joined at the hip. Every weekend we would have a sleepover together, and talk about just about anything. but she moved to America when we were in year 5. Neither of us had ever exactly been popular, and when she first moved it stayed the same. We wrote each other letters and emails all the time, and I missed her but talking to her was good. She'd tell me about America and I'd tell her about school here. It started off with each of us sending letters and emails that were pages long, as often as possible. But when hers became full of her telling me about her new friends, they would get shorter and shorter, and less often. It felt strange that we'd always only had each other, and now she was out there making her own friends. Something I still struggled to do. Now, five years later, we didn't talk to each other very much. We had each other's phone numbers, and we would message from time to time. But I could tell that she didn't care very much any more. She had friends, why would I matter?

So, other than talking to Maya very occasionally, I didn't really talk to anybody. I didn't mind too much, but I could get lonely. I tried not to let it show too much.

My routine was being ruined today though. Summer had been great, but unfortunately it now had to come to an end. It wasn't like I didn't have a routine for school, of course I did. In fact school was more of a routine than my summer had been. But the first day of a new year would mean new teachers, a new timetable, new seating plans, new everything. It was a routine I was yet to get used to. When my alarm went off at 7am, I groaned and opened my eyes. I stretched, wishing that this was any day but today. I managed to drag myself out of bed within a few minutes, and went to go and wash my face and brush my teeth. I went back into my room and pulled on my disgusting school uniform. It was mostly brown, which definitely is not the most attractive colour.