I’ve lived with My Darling Roommate for 8 months now. I know his habits, the number of times he eats in one day (9-10), the fact that spinach goes in the green Tupperware bowl and that he keeps a plate, bowl, spoon, fork, knife, cup, pot & pan all in his cabinet alongside his beans, brown rice, oatmeal and pineapple. He goes to the gym after work, likes buying things on eBay, and can figure out the percentage saved per year using his Publix coupons in a snap. (Whereas I can’t do a fraction to save my life.) He’s a creature of habit, and – surprisingly – it’s somewhat soothing.

You see, despite my Type-A tendencies and the fact that my closets are somewhat color-coded and that I’m obsessed with “Alias” and as of late have been TiVo-ing “The Sopranos” (2 minutes early and 2 minutes late, lest I miss the theme song that a certain fabulous boy likes so much), I’m not overly habitual. Granted, most weeks are similar in the fact that on Mondays I end up sending out more emails than necessary about fun goings-on during the week (such as a Steeplechase and an Improv in the Park) and that I try most days to go to the gym during lunch, only to get pulled into one meeting or the next, but in terms of true “rhythm of life” habits – nope. Every day is a new adventure or – to quote a cheeze-ass song just for the fun of it – Every day is a winding road.

I love this. I love that I can get up on a Sunday and go for a run if I want to, or I can lay in bed until the cats finally knock everything off of my dresser as a way to alert me that their diets aren’t working and they’re still hungry, damnit. I love that some days I leave work at 6:15 (an early evening, you see) whereas on many others, my ass has a “Harmon Kardon” imprint as I’ve not left it until far past 8pm. (Ok, I love leaving at 6ish. I get hostile past 7, and turn into a real bitch past 8.) But whatever – you get my point. Variety is the spice of MY life, at least.

Yet lately, not everything is so clear. The Aubrey who used to be most comfortable flying by the seat of her figurative (likely overpriced but nevertheless adorable) pants now is liking the pseudo-stability that I’ve been experiencing as of late. I like knowing that I’ll come home to the smell of pork chops on a Tuesday if MDR has eaten salmon the night before. I like knowing that I never, ever get to park in my garage. (Though I like parking in the garage even more, though it won’t happen until I get the aforementioned wish of leaving the office at a reasonable hour.) And, after years of my fickle crushes here and there, always looking for the next best thing, I like liking the same person.

Maybe I’m more habitual than I thought.