My family was officially dead. All except me, of course. I was now the only living person in my immediate family. My grandparents on my mother’s side died a long time before I’d even been born. On my father’s side, they had died six years ago, leaving me a huge sum of money in an out-of-the-country bank account. My parents recently suffered from an overdose. Cocaine. Nasty stuff, I must say. Who knew they were spending their millions and millions on crack?

What silly people they were.

Aside from that, I am an only child, as were both my parents. I wondered if it was perhaps a tradition to only procreate once in my family. It would have taken less money, for sure, though perhaps the money spent on birth control counter balances those savings.

I know what you are thinking right this very moment. For example, right now you are wondering if I have telepathic abilities for being able to know what you are thinking. Before you thought that, though, you were wondering why I seemed to be so untroubled by the death of my family. Well, I’ll tell you: Money.

There was only one thing my family had in common amongst all of us, and that was a thirst and greed for those nicely colored bills. It was lust, a thirst for having just that much more than the person next to us. We prided ourselves on our social stature and economic situation.

Aside from that, I had little to no connection with my family. I had moved out when I was seventeen to start my own quest for riches. They had not stopped me, or even discouraged me. Instead, it would seem, that they closed themselves up and only ventured away from home to buy the white powdery substance that would spell out their demise.

So, seeing as my entire family had been buried, I had now proudly inherited nearly 2.3 billion dollars, more money than I could spend in a lifetime. That is, of course, unless I bought a large island and the state of Tennessee.

Yet I had no plans to do such silly things with my coin. I was not going to buy myself a country—nor was I going to waste it away in an unnatural stupor caused by drugs.

No. The thing that I hated more than anything in my life growing up was routine. Everyday, the same thing. I had had my meals planned out, my clothes chosen for me, my lessons scheduled, always in the same order every single day of my life. Even once I had moved out, there had been certain habits I was forced to adopt. Though I was far from destitute, I need a job. So I would get up everyday, put on clothes of my choosing, eat the food that I wanted—maybe go out for breakfast if I was feeling particularly spontaneous—then head in to work. At exactly five o’clock I would punch out and go home, where I would eat once again, then watch TV and eventually go to bed.

I hated it. Every single day of it. I hated how predictable my life was, I hated how if somebody called me, he or she would know exactly what I would be doing. I just plain hated it with every fiber of my soul and being.

Which is why I was going to dedicate my inherited funds to a life without routine. My plan was dependent upon my lack of a plan, and I was going to follow it to the last lack of lettering. Never would I plan a day in advance. My life would be the definition of spontaneity. If I woke up and wanted to travel to Paris, then I would board a flight and go to Paris. If that flight were booked, then maybe I would head down to Cancun, or perhaps even buy my own jet.

I would do what I wanted, when I wanted to. The plan was to live my life thus until I stopped wanting it or was thrown in jail, though the latter may or may not stop me if the time came.

Once again, I know your thoughts. You’re thinking that isn’t waking up a doing something different each day a routine in itself? An unvarying routine of variety? Well, yes, this thought occurred to me as well, though I have found a loophole in such logic. According to the Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary the definition of the word routine is “a regular course of procedure”. This is then open to interpretation.

Many of the things that I may or may not (depending on how I feel each day) accomplish throughout my adventure will most likely not be considered regular, therefore it will not be routine. I also read that to establish a routine, it takes twenty-one days. If throughout those twenty-one days, I did nineteen regular things, and two spread-out irregular things, it would eliminate the chance of my lack of habits to be considered routine.

The only remote flaw in my entire unplanned plan was hygiene. I had to figure out how to wash and brush my teeth and use the bathroom without it becoming a routine. So far, this is what I have been able to come up with:

I will shower almost every day. Though at least three of the twenty-one days it takes to establish routine will be devoted non-shower days, and at least five more days that do not include these three I will have a bath. These days will be random and not the same over the span of each term of twenty-one days.

I will do the same thing for brushing my teeth. Some days I won’t brush my teeth at all. Others, I will brush them in the shower (or bath), and on most of the twenty-one days they will be brushed normally, only at different times of the day.

Using the toilet was the pressing issue. I was not sure how this was going to work, because as you know, when you have to go, you have to go. I figured perhaps I would use different toilet paper randomly—or a different bathroom—or different times of the day. Clearly this one has yet to be figured out. If you have any suggestions, please feel free to let me know, and I will decide (depending on the day) if I feel like accepting and using them.

So now, from this day onwards, I am officially free. I will do what I want, when I want, with no regrets. I am going to make my own choices and fulfill my dreams.

Here’s to being a free man.

---

AN: So I'm just trying this one out. I haven't completely decided if this is going to be a one-shot or a chaptered story, but I'm kind of leaning towards a chaptered story because I rather like the plot I have outline in my head. I would really really appreciate it if you told me what you think of this story.

Now, I'm not quite sure what you need to qualify for OCD, but I'm pretty sure my main character here has it. There may be some elements of romance in this story, but they will be minimal and second to the rest of the plot. The main character is male, by the way, and you'll find out more about him in the next chapter, because there will probably be one.

Anyway, please review, I really want to hear what everyone thinks of this.

Thanks,

-Megan :)