We are creatures of habit. We like to wake up at the same time, eat the same things, talk to the same people about the same things, go to the same places and dream the same dreams. That's 7 sames.
Today I was annoyed by my own repetition. The same boy. The same books. The same places. The same conversations about the same problems over and over and over again. Never changing, at least it seems that way. Wasn't I once more interesting than this? Or am I just now realizing the sameness of my everyday? Can I stop?
"I'm bored. I want to do something else!" She whines petulantly, tugging at the nylon hem of her mother's skirt. She bites her lip, looking up hopefully, her skimpy blond pigtails quivering as she complains.
Maybe I've always been this way.