Routine v.s. Surprise

As assuring and stable as routine may be, I suffer from the unfortunate personality type where things become stale quite soon after they become comfortable. I’ll eat the same food, run the same dance and song and pull the same tricks only so many times before things inevitably become predictable and I inevitably become bored. I suppose this happens to everyone at one point or another, regardless of job, home, place in life, etc., but I easily act as my own enemy by unconsciously feeling the grind a bit harder than it really is because, well, I guess I’m a bit of a bastard like that.
I guess at the moment I’m just opposed to the grand notion of “safe” and its place in everyday life. Life working as a musician on a cruise ship turns into an obvious routine of playing the same songs, setting up in the same lounges, repetition, da capo over and over again without a clear sign of a coda. Granted, I’m well aware how whiny this all sounds as I knew well enough what I was getting myself into with this contract.
True, I could go about changing things for myself—arranging new tunes to keep things fresh, changing my setup a bit, taking a leftish turn when I otherwise would have swerved directly opposite right. True, I very well should step up to these things, both to change my environment and to follow through with what I told myself I’d do. True, I’m spending more time in this blog complaining than actually writing anything insightful…when I actually do write anything at all, really.
On another note, how many times can I actually swell up me chest and promise to do better next time, that I’ll change, I swear, that the me tonight and the me tomorrow will be separated by a new attitude and spirit with what I want over the next (zoinks, Scooby!) five months. Hell, after writing that down and scanning it for a few moments it seems boring. Hell, it is boring, namely because it’s static. I could practice every waking moment during the day when I’m not working, but why spend all my time playing Bach in a freezing backstage area? I could swear to eat right and exercise everyday, but would I really be happier depriving myself of naps and cheeseburgers and beer (other than Guinness…I’ll always have Guinness)?
So…oddly enough…maybe it is good that I have my whiny little punk moments once in a while, so long as they’re typed rather than spoken. Maybe it’s good to get out every little nuance I’ve got running in my head at one point or another, to expose nearly every little twitch of emotion or mentality (within bounds) to the sun until that one becomes stale and I jump to the next one. Maybe it is all a process or a job of keeping myself intrigued and entertained.
Isn’t that the point of it, though? Desire and indulgence in your 20’s, process it all in your 30’s, dispense advice in your 40’s, write books in your 50’s, spend your 60’s living in the south of France drinking wine and enjoying the sunsets?

What I’m really trying to say, I guess, is that I’ve been listening to FutureSex/LoveSounds, and damn it all if isn’t not a killer album.