It is surprisingly easy to slip back into a routine. I think the hardest part of traveling or moving is when you move to a new place, you lose your routine. Even the routines that should easily stick together, like bedtime routines, seem to get disrupted. Thought you were going to bed? Nope! Turn that light back on–you forgot to clean your teeth. Now you can go to bed. Oh, wait–you’re almost asleep? HA! you forgot to take your pills. Oh, wait. Did you close the window? Better get up again and check. And the bathroom light is on–so you’d best get up again and turn it off. Those are the routine disruptions that bug me the most, because they should stay the same, but they just don’t.
When someone else leaves, it’s almost a sigh of relief, because you can go back to your routines–all your normal routines you had before visitors showed up, because no matter how much you love your visitors, they can do quite a number on your routines. Now, everything was quiet again, and here I was, with plenty of extra time and no one to spend it with.
Jo happens to have a knack for showing up at such exact moments. This time, her daughter (and my friend), Annie, was home for a few days from her university in Dublin, and one of them had remembered my confession that I, well, had never seen Phantom of the Opera. That’s not to say I didn’t know the music by heart–original London recording all the way–but I had never actually seen the production. Since it happens to also be a handy-dandy film, Annie was organizing a movie night, to which I had no option but to attend.
So we settled in, with far more popcorn and biscuits than we probably needed, and listened to Gerard Butler belt out a mediocre version of Music of the Night, and discussed our favorite voice pairings, because it seems whenever Christine’s voice is right, the Phantom’s is all wrong, but when the Phantom is right, Christine is mediocre. We did have to go back and replay several scenes, because we were too busy singing along to actually listen, but then, why not sing along? It’s not like anyone was going to hear us, at least, besides ourselves.
It was after midnight when I finally walked home, which, in Cork, is no big deal. It was just starting to get nippy enough that I was wishing I had brought something more than just a jacket, but that’s ok. It was a good evening.