Habitual.

The man at Subway already knows to package three chocolate chip cookies for me as soon as I walk in the door. "Six-inch tuna?" he asks as I make my way to the register. I nod.

"A meal?" I nod again.

"And I already have your cookies," he adds, beaming.

Jesus Christ I come here too much, I tell myself.

"Don't forget your chips!" he always calls, as I walk away. I grab a bag of Baked Lays.

I am a creature of habit. I prefer comfort and familiarity, and a six-inch tuna sub on Italian herbs and cheese bread with pepper-jack cheese, lettuce, green pepper, mayonnaise and honey mustard.

I know it. The man at Subway knows it. My coworkers know it because they see me eating it day after day.

And today, after handing over $6.94 for my lunch, the man at Subway actually said, "See you tomorrow!"

Cringe.

I park in the same stall in the parking lot each morning, sleep on the same side of the bed each night. I won't go to sleep or leave the apartment without accounting for the whereabouts of each cat. I won't drink soda because I gave it up last year and can't bring myself to ruin the momentum I built, the habit. I bite my fingernails and pull out strands of hair when I'm bored.

It is time to break my habits. Screw comfort (and sweet, delicious Subway tuna subs).

Habitual behavior gets old. Like chewing my fingernails. Besides that, it's gross.

No, Subway man, you will not see me tomorrow. I'm through with bad habits.