on illusions being dangerous things...

I feel like someone threw a switch and put life into 'automatic' mode. This I am saying because most of my days are already planned beforehand. 'June 2004, paper 2, question 11'. Predetermined. Planned. No room for discussion.
Its the same with football. 'Playing Tariq's team tomorrow at 845. be on time and bring monthly charges of Rs. 800/-' comes Bhindi's text message. Planned to the T. I drive to music I've already heard and speed past the hills that I know by heart. 'Sir, question 11 please' springs up Asad. 'I knew it' I tell myself.
Let there be a minutes silence for the untimely demise of spontaneity... or am i grieving too soon?
When one resigns oneself to living life on 'auto' it takes a spark to bring the said person back into the realm of impromptu . A bolt of lightening. a surge of high voltage. Have I been electrocuted then? I thought I had been.
But you see, if life has taught me anything, anything at all, its to take all things with punches of salt. Punches being slightly bigger than pinches. Again prudent. I walk on egg shells, always tread lightly and sometimes I wonder if I am still capable on being electrified through this well insulated veneer.
As the plot unravels, the only thing that is certain is, 'time shall tell' that it shall, in a manner of speaking, 'take its toll'. But for whats its worth I finally understand what Linus Larrabee meant when he said, 'save me Sabrina fair... you're the only one who can.'