I washed the kitchen floor this afternoon. As I have previously noted here, in a variety of contexts, I have a devil of a time doing anything by rote. But it's when I'm doing the floor that this deficiency is made most apparent. I had sworn to myself that the method I devised the last time I executed this time-consuming and onerous task was good enough to stick with. When I actually got down on my hands and knees, though, I was unable to repeat myself. And I'm content, because the method I chose today now strikes me as the best of all possible methods. It seems unlikely, though, that my conviction will last until it's time to do the job again. Still, I haven't given up hope that I will one day settle into a mode in which I accept the mechanical reproduction of everyday activities.