I walked into Clancy’s Bar, like I have every day for god, even though I don’t technically believe in him, knows how long. It seemed more a habit than a tradition or happenstance to walk in this hole of the world and waste away.
I was simply another variable in this cog equation which refused to change, hence I was a constant, and however, I could change at any time, which meant I wasn’t. I could be differentiated, we all could be from each other. We all exist, differently. We were pseudo-constants.
We’re all pseudo-constants by virtue of habits, slowly, parasitically latching onto our existence. And that is the most fascinating thing about habits. They come too easy, but they don’t change as easily and don’t let us change. For example, coming to Clancy’s after a long day at the lab is a habit I maybe exercise too regularly. And another example, the good man I chit chat with always stays sober and available for various pseudo-intellectual musings. He never drinks. Not even under pressure or duress. He cannot be flapped.
Like I said, I walked into this hole again and to say the least, I was unfazed. Cheap country music, lethal tobacco and alcohol in the air, mindless drones dancing and drinking, lobotomised. The owner could have remodelled the walls, but even his businessman mind knows all of us will walk in here and not look the cheap wallpapered walls.
One question that I ponder over, while I search for my good man with whom I could continue my chat with how to be not so asocial. Is living by habit truly living? They say seize the moment, but working in a lab for seventeen years, you learn to plan ahead and not be caught off guard. It slowly becomes a part of you to make it a habit to be aware, no matter how monotonous it feels. If I stop living by this habit, I could maybe start enjoying more but could also kill a few people. And this habit makes my brain analysing what could go wrong rather than the person I’m talking currently.
The good man seems like he knows just what to say. His sobriety is his strongest gift.
I reach beside him, and in a rare moment, I’m caught off guard. My good man has broken all boundaries and turned into a full-fledged variable, though I don’t approve of it. It’s taken away his strongest gift.
“My good man, I though you didn’t drink”, I spoke.
“I don’t”, he responded, he looked shabby. Uncouth hair, a cheap whiskey in his hand and an equally unpleasant smell from his mouth. “But he does”, he said, pointing to the man he was turning into.
He turned back to his drink. And I couldn’t believe it. Of all the variables to change the equation, my good man chose to be it. Whether by his internal mechanisms or by some external stimuli, he believed change was a bit due. And this change in the equation, will lead to some more change in the variables. Which means I might have to change to make it right once again. I find this, well I don’t really know. To be honest, I’ve been caught off guard.
“The usual, professor?” the bartender asked me.
“It’s scientist, hell with it. I don’t know.” I really hadn’t thought of what I would do next. Correcting that I’m a scientist seems much too mundane right now.