Predictable

Legend has it that--so regular were his habits--that the citizens of Konigsberg, the Prussian town in which Immanuel Kant lived, used to be able to set their watches by the great philosopher’s daily promenade up and down the same street. The story goes that the only time he failed to adhere to schedule was when he first encountered Rousseau’s book, Emile, and got so engrossed in it that he forgot to take his usual stroll.

While I’m not quite so ossified in my habits, and am more easily distracted by everything from the latest Dave Egger’s book to random postings on the internet, or, for that matter, a bit of leftover Chinese in the fridge, I too, like Professor Kant, am pretty set in my ways, especially when it comes to doing the same thing at the same time day after day after day.

My alarm goes off every morning at the same moment, and I rise with as little delay as possible, to do the exact same yoga practice six days a week except for full and new moon days. My two-slice of toast with cheese breakfast is remarkably similar from Monday to Friday, although sometimes, rebel that I am, I’ll change the flavor of jelly on a whim.

My office hours and classes meet as scheduled every day, and most of the time, Thursday nights are devoted to bike gang.

Nearly every Friday, somewhere between 5:00 and 7:00, I have a beer or two at the Elysian, and Sunday mornings, almost without fail, you could find me drinking coffee and reading the New York Times at Victrola from around 8:00 to 9:00 AM.

I suppose this marks me as kind of boring, or at least, not particularly spontaneous, which is kind of troubling, because I like to see myself as reasonably impetuous.

Reliable, I’m happy to be, but predictable, not so much.

Maybe I’ll change, if I can fit it into my schedule.