Routine
Every morning. 6:13 AM.
He’s up due to the sound of a bird pecking at his window. It’s been trying to get in for weeks now. Weeks..
It’s been weeks since the fight on the moon. Five weeks, actually. Marie went back to Oceania to help there. That’s her station after all.. Why he thought she’d stay is beyond him at this point, and he’s not sure he cares anymore.
It’s 🇷🇴🇺🇹🇮🇳🇪.
People leave him. He’s quite used to it at this point.
6:30. He adjusts.
First- Straighten his back. Stretch. ...Neck, arms, wrists, knuckles. Second- 🇦🇩🇯🇺🇸🇹🇸 the screw. It tends to get off-set when he sleeps. He tosses and turns a little when he has nightmares. It’s a good way to tell if he’s had a nightmare. Not that they aren’t regular anyway..
If he can stomach the motivation nowadays, he’ll shower. Nice and cold to offset the Nevada air.
Get dressed. Breathe for a few minutes.
6:40. Motivation or not though, he needs to eat. If he doesn’t, he’ll relapse or pass out or just feel generally shitty for the day.
Breakfast is generally a sandwich but sometimes he spices it up and makes bacon. The one thing he has managed to learn how to not burn. It requires just enough focus that he can dissociate while he cooks it. His 🇩🇮🇸🇸🇴🇨🇮🇦🇹🇮🇴🇳 falls into a perfect pattern for cooking bacon. Bacon goes on the hot pan, Start 🇩🇮🇸🇸🇴🇨🇮🇦🇹🇮🇴🇳. It wears off in a few minutes, leaving him to flip the bacon. Start 🇩🇮🇸🇸🇴🇨🇮🇦🇹🇮🇴🇳 once more. 🇩🇮🇸🇸🇴🇨🇮🇦🇹🇮🇴🇳 wears off and the bacon is done. Bacon.
“Hm.. Clothes, shower, food, stretched...” What is he missing.
Oh right.
His pills are something he almost forgets every day. In fact it has become 🇷🇴🇺🇹🇮🇳🇪 to just barely remember to use them. Which means he knows he’ll always remember. Because he knows he’ll always almost forget.
Pills are swallowed down with juice, water, tea, or coffee. It depends on what he has the energy for. Yes, he may have gotten sleep, but he’s still exhausted. Constantly. Then again, he doesn’t always actually sleep too..
Focus.
Walk to work, arrive at 7:45. Sometimes earlier if his 🇷🇴🇺🇹🇮🇳🇪 takes less time than normal. 🇦🇩🇯🇺🇸🇹.
🇦🇩🇯🇺🇸🇹 papers on desk, books, desks for the students. Sit and think, or dissociate. Whichever happens first.
🇦🇩🇯🇺🇸🇹 glasses, screw, or seated position as needed.
While he waits he tends to go over papers, grades, future class plans and the like. Sometimes even student data. Mumbles it to himself to see if he can get it right in comparison to the notes he writes down. Using the word ‘writes’ loosely. He does get it right. Every time. Eidetic memory.
Continue to 🇦🇩🇯🇺🇸🇹. Though, if he adjusts too much he’ll get antsy... Can’t have that.
Classes... Control students. Control urges to cut something open. Barely...
🇦🇩🇯🇺🇸🇹 schedule as needed by variables throughout the day. Everything is just variables.... Everything is just.. 🇷🇴🇺🇹🇮🇳🇪.
Nothing to do after classes but go home, unless therapy is today. Check calendar. It’s not today. Nothing to do then.
🇦🇩🇯🇺🇸🇹.. 🇦🇩🇯🇺🇸🇹.. 🇦🇩🇯🇺🇸🇹... Turn the screw... No, don’t dissociate while you turn the screw. You’ll hurt yourself. Stop it..
The professor sighs, managing to pull his left arm away from the screw. He’s so tired of routine. It’s the same, it’s all the same. Routine bores him. Bore scares him, because he’s afraid of himself. He needs something different. Routine cannot last forever, he’ll just become 𝗁𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐
Becoming 𝗁𝗈𝗅𝗅𝗈𝗐 is one of the only fears he has. He requires ＰＵＲＰＯＳＥ.
He slicks a hand through his hair, leaning back in his chair. The last student is gone... Remove the glasses. Remove the facade, quietly fade. Quietly.. Power down inside. Nothing to stop the apathy now. Great. A relapse is just what I need.. Right.
The door to his class remains open.
No wonder Death ordered an evaluation of him. The man’s a wreck.
