I have a big problem. Sometimes I lose a sense for what’s real in terms of the things people just say. When someone says creatures of habit I feel a little creature sitting inside my chest combing dull lashes. The creature of habbit looks like he could be in The Wind in the Willows, he has water combed hair and a small bow tie, shirt and gray vest. The creature of habit likes it when the mail arrives on time and when the birds fly south at exactly the same date each year. It’s the creature of habit that calls to complain when something isn’t the way it usually is. So when I think about arm-wrestling with someone stronger than me, the creature is ready to call the police. When I sit down and grab the hand of the person in question the creature has a minor heart attack, small tingling in his left arm and his face numbs away. Of course I lose the arm-wrestle and the creature doesn’t die, but wakes up in a cold sweat on his hallway floor with the curtains drawn and it’s nearly eight o'clock in the evening. The creature of habit survived yet another test.