Rigidity

As I near my 24th birth­day I find myself becom­ing more and more set in my ways. It is a sub­tle process, eas­ing into my old man pants.

It isn’t real­ly a sur­prise though. My ret­ro­spec­ta­cles help me see that I start­ed down this route when I was still quite lit­tle. The day I first sep­a­rat­ed all of my Legos by col­or or arranged my crayons into spec­tral align­ment was most like­ly the first sign. Then I would hoard things, like alu­minum foil and wal­nuts in my tree house.

I think it sounds not unlike­ly that when chil­dren frus­trate at their par­ents regard­ing the ‘set and out­dat­ed ways’ of said par­ents, this is not much more than the orig­i­nal and juve­nile rigid­i­ty of a young­ster test­ing itself against the stolid­ness of the adult kind.

The process sped up con­sid­er­ably when I entered col­lege. Most­ly because I had a shit­load more things of which to keep track. I guess I should explain my rigid­i­ty as some­thing bor­der­ing on OC/AR. Every­thing needs to be in its place and orga­nized. Thank­ful­ly I’m just lazy enough that mess just both­ers me instead of obsess­ing me. I hate when I’m not on time. I do not like unplanned has­sles [car mal­func­tions, leaky bath­tubs] because they mess with my ‘rou­tine’ [which I put in quotes because I am extreme­ly capa­ble of spon­ta­neous fun if noth­ing else needs done].

My com­put­er is kept as stream­lined and clut­ter free as pos­si­ble [most­ly because it is 6 and any clut­ter will kill its per­for­mance], I fold my shirts a cer­tain way, have to wash dish­es right after they are dirt­ied and I make my bed each morn­ing. I wear my hair aggres­sive­ly short. I guess I’m always try­ing to win­now the wheat from the chaff.

I won­der how my rigid­i­ty will look years from now. I won­der if life can be thought of as just a slow loss of men­tal and phys­i­cal flex­i­bil­i­ty. That sounds bloody depress­ing.

These words sound groovy: rig­or, apos­ta­sy.