Constant

"I am as constant as a northern star"


It rained heavily this morning and as a result the morning paper didn't arrive before I had left for work. Although I do not really find the news or at least the news reported by the morning paper very newsworthy, I found myself strangely irate with the fact that I had no reading material to accompany my breakfast. The absence of my morning papers or rather a break in my morning routine made me realize how much of an automaton I have become, at least on a working day. I tried to remember if I shampooed my hair this morning and I was sure I did because, that's what I do every morning when I get into the shower but yet I could not visualize my hands lathering shampoo into my hair. It was almost as if my mind had blanked out for that moment in the shower. And perhaps it did. Perhaps that is what a routine does to you and does for you. Perhaps it is the fact that the mundane has become so monotonous, so unbearable that the mind soothes itself by disconnecting itself from the reality. It is at this very moment that I asked myself if this is really life, as it is meant to be, in all its full glory, undone by the inability to recall a seemingly trivial detail with sufficient particularity.  I was reminded of the opening lines from Camus' The Myth of Sisyphus and perhaps this is starting to border on the absurd. 


"There is but one truly serious philosophical problem and that is suicide. Judging whether life is or os not worth living amounts to answering the fundamental questions of philosophy. All the rest - whether or not the world has three dimensions, whether the mind has nine or twelve categories - comes afterwards. These are games."
~Albert Camus, The Myth of Sisyphus