As I lay on the floor nursing my back, it occurs to me that I have rules for jus’ about every aspect of my life. I know where the majority of these rules come from, while others, I have no idea how or why I think them.
When getting dressed, I put on my socks before I put on my skivvies. And I always have to have a belt on when I’m wearing pants.
Meal time mandates I eat in a certain order: salad, veggies, starches then the meat. I also never co-mingle my foods; its one thing at a time. Finally, I drink my milk, juice, coffee or whatever very last and never with a mouthful of food.
Writing even comes with its own set of rules: the two that are most prevalent are the use of the pronoun “I” in starting a sentence when it’s the first sentence in a paragraph. I’ll only use it if it is in the second or third sentence of the paragraph. Rarer still is the fact that I try never to create a paragraph longer than three or four sentences.
Even my bathroom habits have a set of rules. like making certain the toilet paper neatly wrapped around my hand rather than balled-up and defiantly NO pushing. As for showering, I wash top to bottom and after rinsing off, I use one end of the towel for drying my face, the rest for my body.
I know—way too much information.
Finally, I’m adding a new rule to my list: Don’t keep a notepad nearby when on pain medication as I’m liable to write about cr@p like this.