I don't think I'm alone in this: There are some (many?) things I do all the time just because I've always done them. And not all of them make sense. Let's look at an example: Midsomer Murders.
This British TV series has been on for a long time--since 1998--and they're still cranking out episodes, though with a much-altered cast. I can't remember when we started (it was not 1998), but since we've had the capacity to stream episodes via Netflix, well, let's just say that we've been watching them for a long time.
Joyce, I know, thinks it's too long and does not at all mind when I start (or finish) an episode without her. (Our customary TV watching is at night, in bed, shortly before z-z-z-z-z-z time, a time that, in Joyce's case, Midsomer Murders greatly accelerates.)
Midsomer is a fictitious county in England that apparently has a lot of murder going on. The stories have a comforting (or, depending on your point of view, boring) sameness about them. In the first few minutes someone gets offed--hardly ever with a firearm. (You know the Brits!) And then here comes CI Barnaby and his trusty companion to sort things out. It always takes an hour and a half to do the sorting.
The recent Barnaby is a cousin to the previous one. And the Barnabys have had a couple of subordinate partners in the series. We are now streaming Season 16 (2014), and there's a new young guy on board, DS Nelson, who's doing pretty well putting up with Barnaby's dour cynicism. Barnaby's wife (about to deliver) likes him and has been forcing her husband to be ... decent to him. (See photo below.)
(By the way, the kissing between Barnaby and his wife is about as chaste as I've seen since the 1950s--and invariably concludes with a smack. If I were to try that, Joyce would give me a different kind of smack. Not really ... but she would surely think about it.)
Anyway, the episodes virtually never engage me. I find myself not caring who did the murder. And I just want it to be over ... so I can see the next one.
My older brother started watching them but gave up fairly quickly. I understand. I should have, too. (Joyce agrees.) But I just can't. It's part of my temperament to keep going, I guess.
I've very rarely quit reading a book--even a book I hate. (Doing so--quitting--seems to indicate a character flaw--although I have plenty of those.)
I tend to buy the same brands of things, even when there have been some ... failures. I write letters to my mother the same days each week (Wed and Sun).
I have written here before about all my routines and habits, and I seem to be doing it again. Just a habit, I guess.
Anyway, I will stream through this season of Midsomer and wait for the next one to become available. And Joyce will continue to regard me with The Look but will silently allow the show to usher her into the arms of Morpheus.