A ritual is just a desperate habit

I'm baaaaack. Online, that is. See previous post. The phone company came out on Sunday (yes, they do actually work on Sundays, who knew?) and got me back online. The phone guy, tall and rangy, has worked through at least four incarnations of the phone company. Pacific Northwest Bell, then US West, then Qwest, and now Century Link. What must that be like? If I had to guess, I'd say his loyalty is to the brotherhood of phone repair guys, rather than to a specific company. Companies come and go. But communication snafus are forever.

Speaking of snafus, my communication saga isn't over yet, apparently. I'm happy to report, there is improvement. The phone guy replaced the phone jack in my apartment (full of old paint, gunk, and cat hair), and got me back online, but at about half the speed I'm paying for. Some phone company magic has to take place with a large device called a bucket truck, and then maybe I'll be able to stream video. But I'm not counting on it. When I got home from work today, the connection was down again.

I have a ritual for getting re-connected. Disconnect everything from the modem. Wait five minutes. If that doesn't work, then I plug and replug the phone line, wiggling it around, hoping to hit the sweet spot. That didn't work today. So, today I unplugged my telephone, which is in the bedroom so as not to interfere with the all-important modem line. After that, the modem lights all came on. Eureka! I replugged my telephone and the lights stayed on. I guess my ritual worked. I'm really glad, because the next step would have been to sacrifice a Christian baby. (Kidding! Any baby will do.)

I'm hurrying to upload this post before the ritual magic fades and I am once again disconnected from the cyber world.

So, I guess this post is about rituals. Now that I think about it, my life is full of rituals. My getting-ready-for-work process could be called a ritual. I do the same things in the same order pretty much every day. I hit the snooze button three or four times before I roll out of bed. I worship in front of my light box for a few minutes while water for my tea is heating. I make breakfast and eat it—the same food everyday: four eggs and a pile of over-cooked vegetables. (The vegetables vary somewhat from day to day, but the pile is roughly the same size and flavor.) I brush my teeth, get dressed in one of my black or gray thrift store suits, and walk out the door at the same time every day. Is this getting boring? Ho hum. Maybe this isn't a ritual at all, maybe this is just a habit. What's the difference? Hmmm. I think a ritual is a habit with desperate overtones. A habit fraught with drama. (A drabit?)

Well, maybe my morning routine is a ritual. When I imagine changing it, or not being able to follow it, I feel really anxious. Go without my tea? Not hardly. Go to work without eating breakfast? Terrifying thought. Maybe it is more than a ritual. Maybe it has crossed over to becoming a superstition! Maybe bad things will happen if I don't follow the ritual. Like I'll be really mean and grumpy all day. Hey, wait. I'm mean and grumpy anyway. Maybe rituals have nothing to do with it. I am, after all, a chronic malcontent.