My attitude to routine is highly changeable. I have an office job with (very) regular hours so it's inevitable that my weekdays will all have a similar shape, even if their texture can vary wildly. Within this tightly defined grid my mood can swing wildly from feeling comfortable within the confines of my cozy closed-door office to quiet desperation. For some people, solitude can feel like a punishment. For introverts it can almost be addictive. For the inwardly looking there is always an inbox teeming with thoughts about the world needing our attention. On the other hand there's a side of me that craves novelty and engagement with people that exist outside the two-dimensionality of TV, podcasts or the Internet. Unleashed from my routine I don't seem to miss much about it. The days proceed in a zig-zag pattern then double back on themselves. I get a glimpse into other people's routines and get to compare myself with them favourably or otherwise. Within my regular days I cherish those highly-rehearsed moments that feel earned. The first sip of coffee after I've taken my seat on the train...deciding what to read as I put my hand into my bag and pull out several options...the first bite of lunch with the knowledge I have reclaimed my time for an hour or so...getting reacquainted with my car whose been waiting patiently in the station all day...and taking off my work clothes, which no matter how comfortable they are feel somehow tainted by their neccessariness and need to be removed as soon as possible. And since a month or so this exercise of writing done during my lunch hour - an intensely concentrated period of focus that feels like a long comforting exhalation.