Baby you can drive my car... 'cause I can't

I stalled-out in traffic on a fairly steep hill yesterday. It happens. I quickly restarted the engine and continued the climb. I doubt the car behind me even noticed the lag. But I did.

Whenever I wasn't safely nestled into 3rd or higher, I would begin to think too hard about letting the clutch out and about any given speed I could maintain without dieseling. Soon enough I stalled again while running a work errand. I stalled again today.

I've also had trouble tying my shoes. Sometimes the devil that lives behind my eyeballs whispers "What are you doing?" When I begin to answer, I realize that I have no idea. Rabbit goes around the tree, down the hole... dynamites the duck? kisses the hunter?

Twice I've forgotten how to spell shew shoo shue shoe.

I have a theory about all of this. You see, I don't think that I know any of it - how to drive, how to spell, how to throw a baseball. It seems that at one time I knew, just not anymore. I must have practiced enough that my body just remembers what to do. As soon as I try to take my body off autopilot all hell breaks loose. My tongue sticks out the side of my mouth, sweat drips down my forehead and I knock over everything within arms reach. When my frustration level has maxed out, I try to grab something to throw against the wall; invariably said objects slips out of my grip and falls harmlessly to the floor.

At this point autopilot usually re-engages, and sometime later I find myself halfway to work, or eating a sandwhich, or doing laundry. I fall into the warm embrace of memorized routine and smile, drool pooling on my chin.

Religion is the opiate of the masses? Opium, perhaps? No, my friend, routine is humanity's binky.