Routines are something all of us depend on. If it wasn't for routine, I'm sure half of us wouldn't be able to get out the door and get to work everyday. You get up and you go through the same sequence of activities you do every other weekday, from going to the bathroom at the same time each morning to eating your toast only after finishing reading last night's game results in the sports section.

Your routine is all about timing. Without even knowing it probably, it's your routine that ensures your day runs like clockwork. Each little component naturally fits into the one that follows it, in your mind at least. Others may not appreciate the connection between the second cigarette and the trip to the bathroom, but for you they are all essential cogs in what makes you tick along.

God forbid anything should go wrong in the routine; you're screwed if it does. One day the paper isn't delivered and you go to eat your breakfast and you can't figure out when to eat your toast, drink your coffee, or have your cigarettes. You get so flustered you lose track of time and you leave home late and miss the bus you usually take to work.

Because you missed the bus, you don't have time to have one more cigarette before you go into the office for the morning ,and that means you're distracted and in a rush. You go through security and forget that you have to sign in everyday, and they stop you and make a big deal of reminding you, even though it's the same two jerks who've seen you five days a week for the past seven years.

You've been held up as a figure of ridicule and you're late for work, something you haven't been in all your years of working for this company. Of course today is the day the CEO has decided to make an example of people who are habitually tardy, and you happen to burst into the office conspicuous in your lateness, just as he's half-way through his speech to the assembled office staff on how much it costs the corporation in dollars and cents for every minute a person is late.

Right about then you wish the floor would just drop out from under you as you make your way into the room with the eyes of all fixed upon you like laser beams. The day gets progressively worse, because by now you're as jumpy as a cokehead at a southern cop convention. When your boss comes up behind you to commiserate over what happened, he startles you so much you throw your coffee at him.