Discipline vs Chaos
- Neha Singla
- Mar 27
- 13 min read
Updated: May 12
A Humour Column by Neha Singla
A humour series about good intentions, failed plans, and the tiny everyday disasters that somehow become stories.
New stories every week.
Discipline vs Chaos is continuing on Medium, where the plans are organised and the situations are absolutely not.
Read the next parts here:
The Series
Part 2: The Day Lactose and Lacoste Entered the Same Conversation: A post-gym discussion where two very similar words created a memorable moment.
Part 6: The Day “Just One More Episode” Felt Like a Good Idea
There are days when you follow your goals. You sleep on time, make sensible decisions, and behave like someone who has their life together.
And then there are days when you ignore all of that… and act like it was never discussed.
This was one of those days.
It started very casually, on my way back from work, when my phone lit up with a notification I absolutely did not need.
New season. Now streaming. The same series I had been waiting for. For two years. At this point, it was personal.
I reacted. Not internally. Physically. A full jump in my seat. On a moving bus. People looked. I sat down immediately like I had always been this calm, composed person who absolutely did not just react to a notification like that.
Internally, the decision had already been made. This was just a formality.
Can I watch it tonight?
A simple question.
A very irresponsible question.
And then, like every bad decision, it came with strong supporting logic.
Dinner? Leftovers exist.
Diet? I’ll deal with it tomorrow.
Plans? None. Tomorrow?
Saturday. Pilates at 8? Technically possible… if I sleep by 11.
That line, if I sleep by 11, sounded very responsible. Which should have been the first warning sign.
Decision made. Tonight, we watch.
By the time I reached home, the setup had already taken over. Blanket, pillow, popcorn… and Oscar, my loyal fur baby and partner in all my crimes, who was just happy to be included and had no idea what he had signed up for. Mostly me.
I got comfortable very quickly. Slightly too quickly. The kind of comfortable where you sit down and your brain quietly goes, “yes, this is fine… we’re not moving for a while.”
Episode one started. That’s where things quietly went wrong.
And just like that, I was no longer available for the rest of the evening.
There was screaming, pausing, rewinding. At some point, I was hiding behind Oscar, who, for the record, remained completely unbothered and contributed nothing to the situation.
Time passed. No one was keeping track.
Not slowly.
Not normally.
Suspiciously fast.
When I finally checked the time, it was 11 PM.
Which felt fine… until I thought about it for more than two seconds.
I looked at the clock. The clock looked back. We both knew what was about to happen.
This was the moment.
“One more episode,” I said.
Calm. Confident. No real understanding of consequences.
And that should have been the point where I stopped.
At that point, I wasn’t watching the show. I was fully involved at that point. There was no coming back.
The next thing I remember, I woke up on the couch. Still under the blanket. Oscar still there. The TV still on, like it had seen everything and decided not to get involved. I checked the time.
11 AM. Not early morning. Not even normal morning.
The kind of time where you don’t ask questions… because you already know you won’t like the answers. At some point, I must have slept around 3. I don’t know exactly when.
But it was definitely not 11.
My sleep had not.
And whatever confidence I had the night before… had quietly disappeared.
And just like that, the plan… adjusted.
This piece first lived on Medium (Women Write). Now it lives here too, same chaos, just a different corner of the internet.
Part 5: The Day Double Demerits Turned Me Into a Responsible Driver… Almost
There are days when you follow rules. You stay within the limit, read every sign, and behave like someone who suddenly remembers how demerit points work.
And then there are long weekends.
The kind with double demerits.
This was one of those.
Somewhere between staying in my lane and staying within the speed limit, I was tapping my fingers on the steering wheel, fully in sync with the music and slightly out of sync with my life decisions. I already had a few demerit points sitting quietly on my record. Not dramatic, but enough to keep me careful.
Add double demerits to that, and suddenly every decision feels like it needs approval.
So yeah, today was not the day to do anything stupid.
The plan was simple. Stay under 80, avoid unnecessary risks, and reach home like a responsible adult.
And for a while, it worked.
I was focused. Alert. Slightly tense. The kind of driving where you check your speed every few seconds like you don’t trust it anymore.
Every sign felt important. Every camera felt personal. Even the cars behind me seemed to have opinions about my commitment to 77 in an 80 zone.
At some point, I became so focused on not getting a demerit point that I started overthinking everything.
Did that sign really say 80?
Was that a camera or just a pole with confidence?
Why is everyone else so relaxed?
At that point, I quickly went over my recent driving decisions.
It was not a strong performance.
And that’s when it happened. A small decision that felt responsible at the time.
Maybe I should just stay in the left lane.
Safest option. No stress.
Which is exactly how I took an exit I did not need.
Now, highway exits have a very specific energy. They don’t warn you. They don’t slow down for you. One second you’re thinking, next second you’re already off the highway like you made that decision with full confidence.
The GPS paused, recalculated, and said, “Re-routing.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “This is still under control.”
This was not under control.
I was no longer on the highway. I was on a road that felt unfamiliar. Not wrong, just… getting worse. The signs started changing. Places I didn’t recognise. Distances that felt a bit too ambitious for a normal drive home.
And then I saw it.
A sign pointing towards Brisbane.
Now, I was not going to Brisbane.
But the fact that Brisbane had entered the situation at all felt like things had gone too far.
There was a pause.
A quiet one.
I looked at the road. Then at the map. Then back at the road.
“Okay,” I said, very calmly, “this has gone slightly off track.”
At this point, avoiding demerit points was no longer the main concern.
At this point, I just wanted to stay in the same state.
After a few unnecessary turns, some quiet panic, and some very quick character development, I made it back to the highway pretending, of course, that this had all been part of the plan.
Back on track. Back to driving like someone who values their licence.
Because clearly, double demerits make you careful… but chaos only needs one small decision.
New stories every week.
Part 4: The Day “Just Looking” Turned Into Investment Shopping
There are days when you make firm decisions. Clear boundaries. Strong commitments.
“No more shopping.” Simple. Responsible. Mature.
This decision came shortly after I organised my cupboard. Now, organising a cupboard is a deeply revealing activity. You meet clothes you haven’t seen in months. Some still have tags. Some are patiently waiting for a life event that apparently never arrives. And some look at you like, “Oh… so this is where you’ve been.”
During this process, I made an important discovery.
About 60% of my clothes had not been worn in the last six months.
A surprising number, until I realised my wardrobe and I have very different expectations from daily life… and, of course, working from home has been supporting that situation. These days, my wardrobe rotation is extremely efficient: a few pairs of jeans, a couple of tank tops, and the occasional jacket that appears when meetings become important.
The rest of the wardrobe exists… in theory.
But my conclusion that day was clear. No more shopping. The cupboard had spoken.
This decision lasted exactly until the next stressful workday.
After a long day at the office, I was on my way home, sipping my favourite watermelon drink and feeling refreshed. The drink was cold. The sunset was perfect. It had been a day.
For a brief moment, everything felt calm.
And that is exactly when chaos likes to appear.
As I walked past the row of shops, my eyes, without consulting me, stopped at a display window.
And then I saw it.
A dress.
Bronze in colour.
Not just bronze.
Sunset bronze.
The evening light hit it perfectly. The fabric was catching the glow. The colour was confident. The design… persuasive.
This was not just a dress hanging in a window. It felt like it had a point to prove.
I paused.
Not dramatically.
Just… observationally.
“Nice colour,” I said, continuing to walk.
Two steps later, my eyes returned.
Now the dress looked even better.
Confident. Elegant. Slightly persuasive.
At this point I did something very responsible. I shook my head, the way dogs shake themselves when they want to reset their energy. Except they do it to feel better. I did it to return to reality.
Remember the cupboard.
Remember the promise.
Remember the 60%.
And then a very reasonable thought appeared.
There’s no harm in just trying it.
Trying is not buying.
Trying is research.
Trying is just being prepared for future wardrobe strategy.
Seven minutes of responsible resistance passed, which, frankly, is a strong performance. Eventually, logic prevailed.
“I’ll just see how it looks,” I told myself, and went inside. The dress was brought to the trial room. I put it on.
Looked in the mirror.
And in that moment, a part of my brain that had been very quiet all day suddenly woke up.
The Finance Department
Calm. Strategic. Extremely persuasive.
Its first thought was simple. This was not spending. This was investment.
Because when you wear a good dress to the office or an event, something shifts and your mood improves. Improved mood comes with a natural glow, and glowing skin has consequences. Glowing skin means less makeup. And makeup these days is practically a financial commitment. In fact, if we compare numbers carefully, makeup could easily cost more than the entire price of this dress, which means this dress is already saving money.
But the analysis didn’t stop there. The dress was fitted, which introduced a new opportunity. To maintain this level of elegance, regular gym visits would clearly become necessary.
Now this was excellent news. Because I already have a gym membership. One that occasionally sees me. Wearing this dress would naturally mean going more often, which means better utilisation of the membership I’m already paying for.
And suddenly, this was no longer about shopping. This was about return on investment. More gym visits lead to better posture. Better posture leads to stronger presence. Stronger presence shows up in meetings. At this point, the dress had officially become part of my career strategy.
The conclusion was obvious.
This dress was not an expense.
It was a multi-layered lifestyle investment.
And with that extremely responsible financial analysis completed…
I walked to the counter and swiped my card.
The Finance Department approved.
The sunset lighting supported it.
The dress… was very convincing.
Only one department remained silent.
The cupboard.
New stories every week.
Part 3: The Day I Was Trusted With Google Maps
There are days when Google Maps behaves. You follow it, reach your destination, and feel quietly impressed with yourself.
And then there are days when Google Maps… has other ideas.
This was one of those days.
It started after a team karaoke dinner, the kind where everyone sings confidently and remembers selectively.
As the night wrapped up, the practical question arrived: How is everyone getting back?
Now, late-night travel has one universal rule: if you can go in a group, you go in a group. So, six of us decided to walk to the train station together.
Simple plan.
One small detail left: who’s handling Google Maps?
Now, this is not a casual role.
This is responsibility, direction, trust.
And somehow… it came to me.
Naturally, I became the situation.
“We just have to follow this,” I said, holding my phone like I knew exactly what I was doing.
The route looked perfect, clear turns, a simple path, nothing suspicious. We started walking. “Just straight,” I added. And that’s the thing about directions. When someone says straight, you don’t question it. You commit.
A few minutes in, things started looking… different. Not wrong, just not what the map had emotionally prepared us for.
“Are we going the right way?” someone asked.
“Yeah, it’s just ahead,” I said, because technically… it still was.
We turned, walked a bit more, and followed a path that looked like it believed in itself. Meanwhile, Google Maps stayed calm.
It paused for a second.
And then… “Re-routing.”
“It’s just updating,” I said, like this was all completely under control.
We continued.
New direction, same confidence.
At some point, a few extra Google Maps quietly appeared, not dramatically, just on other people’s phones… as a backup.
And then we reached it.
A dead end.
Not metaphorical. A very real, very committed wall.
Google Maps, unfazed: “Re-routing.”
There was a pause.
The kind where everyone respectfully processes the situation.
I looked at the map, then at the wall, then back at the map.
“Okay,” I said, with complete clarity, “so this was clearly the scenic route.”
That did it. Laughter, immediate, shared, fully aligned.
And just like that, the plan… adjusted. Suddenly, everyone had a map, and we were all in sync… just exploring different versions of the same route. Somewhere between walking, laughing, and turning around more than once, things got a lot more interesting.
Eventually, after a few creative detours, we reached the station.
Lesson Learned:
Directions are helpful. But sometimes… the route decides to improvise.
And honestly, that’s where things get interesting.
Part 2: The Day Lactose and Lacoste Entered the Same Conversation
We’ve all had that moment when our brain confidently says the wrong thing… and we realise it about three seconds too late.
Most of the time, conversations flow beautifully, insightful, meaningful, slightly educational. You participate, you learn, you contribute. You leave feeling… upgraded.
And then there are days when your vocabulary decides to collaborate without your permission.
This day managed to be both.
It happened on a bright, overly enthusiastic sunny day, right after a gym workout. That very specific post-workout window where everyone feels accomplished… and protein somehow becomes a group conversation.
Naturally, I joined in. Because I am that person, the one who enters conversations confidently to share knowledge, gain knowledge, and occasionally just participate for emotional satisfaction.
“I have lactose intolerance,” I said, stepping in with perfect timing. “It really limits my protein options… especially since I’m vegetarian too.”
The group leaned in immediately.
“Oh, you can try…”
“Have you had…”
“I usually go for…”
Suggestions started flying, practical, helpful, and occasionally sounding like a full-time commitment.
I nodded thoughtfully.
“That’s actually a great option,” I said, as if I had just unlocked a new level of understanding. The conversation kept building, ideas, options, things that sounded both useful and slightly ambitious. For a brief moment, everything felt… well organised. Health, knowledge, good intentions, all in one place.
And then, as conversations do… it pivoted.
From protein… to shoes.
Specifically, comfortable shoes, which, as it turns out, was a topic I was fully prepared to participate in.
“You know,” I said, picking up the thread, “my new Lacoste shoes are amazing. So comfortable. I’m actually in love with them.” It fit perfectly into the moment, relevant, timely, and exactly the kind of input the conversation needed.
And then…
My brain, still recovering from the workout, decided to simplify things.
“These lactose shoes are so comfortable… even for running,” I said, with full confidence and a helpful visual demonstration.
A pause.
A very respectful pause.
Not dramatic.
Not awkward.
Just… the kind where everyone is politely checking if they missed an important update.
Faces shifted.
Not confused enough to interrupt.
Not confident enough to agree.
Everyone was politely… evaluating the concept of dairy-based footwear.
And I continued.
Because once a sentence is delivered with confidence, it deserves full support.
“Yes,” I added, with complete consistency, “these lactose shoes are really good quality.”
At this point, we were no longer in a conversation.
We were… exploring new ideas.
Across from me, I could see it, the silent questions forming:
Is this a new brand?
Is this a sustainable concept?
Is this… edible fashion?
And then I saw it.
The expressions.
That polite, controlled confusion that gently says… something here is not aligned.
And in that exact moment, my brain finally came back online, right on time.
“Oh, Lacoste,” I corrected quickly. “I think after the workout my brain just stayed in the previous conversation… and replaced Lacoste with lactose.”
I paused, then added,
“Honestly, I think my brain saw an opportunity, like if you’re going to torture the body at the gym, I might as well keep things entertaining.”
A brief pause.
And then laughter.
Immediate.
Genuine. Slightly uncontrollable.
The kind that doesn’t try to fix the sentence… it just enjoys it.
The conversation moved forward, like nothing had happened.
No follow-up questions. No clarifications.
Just a mutual agreement… to respect the moment and carry on.
But the moment stayed.
Because here’s the thing, discipline is not just about workouts, food choices, or showing up consistently.
Sometimes discipline is simply keeping lactose and Lacoste in completely different sentences.
Now I’m curious, have you ever said something confidently… and realised immediately that it made absolutely no sense?
Tell me honestly, what’s the funniest thing your brain has said at the wrong moment?
Part 1: Discipline vs Cake
Notes From a Woman Who Declined Cake and Deserves Recognition for It.
There are moments in life that test your character. Big decisions. Career moves. Life choices. And then there are… cake moments.
On this particular day, I found myself in my favourite café, the kind of place that doesn’t just serve cake, it presents it. Soft lighting, perfect display, cakes arranged like they’ve been personally waiting for you to arrive and make eye contact.
I ordered my coffee. Calm. Focused. In control.
And then it happened.
“Would you like to add cake?”
A simple question. Casual. Polite. But loaded.
Now, I am someone who believes in balance. Fitness. Discipline. Consistency. I go to the gym. I show up. I make an effort. I also pay gym fees, which, financially speaking, creates expectations.
As I stood there, two very strong departments within me activated.
The Fitness Department was calm, structured, slightly intimidating. It reminded me of the effort, the consistency, and the very real layers currently under negotiation. Its message was clear: stay focused.
The Finance Department, however, had a different energy. Equally powerful, slightly louder, and deeply invested in returns. It presented a compelling case: you are paying for the gym, every dollar must be justified, and technically, if you eat the cake, you will have to work harder… which means a better return on investment.
At this point, I was no longer ordering coffee. I was hosting a strategic meeting.
And then, in a moment of unexpected maturity, I did something bold.
I paused.
Not dramatically. Not emotionally.
Just… strategically.
I adjusted my posture, because good decisions deserve good posture. I looked at the cake. I looked at my future. And chose.
“No, thank you.”
Clean. Precise. Almost suspiciously controlled.
Now, I would love to say I walked away unaffected. But let’s stay aligned with reality.
I walked away… aware.
Aware of the cake. Aware of my decision. Aware that I had just declined something soft, rich, and emotionally supportive.
I sat down with my coffee. Calm. Composed. Slightly superior.
Because discipline is not loud. It doesn’t make announcements. It shows up quietly, in small, powerful moments, in ordinary cafés where cake is displayed with unreasonable confidence.
And yes, my heart made one final attempt.
“You’ve already paid the gym fees…”
A strong argument. Financial. Logical. Almost persuasive.
To which I responded, internally, with equal clarity:
“And I plan to protect that investment.”
And just like that, balance was restored.
Coffee: consumed. Cake: respected… from a distance.
Self-control: unexpectedly thriving.
Lesson Learned
Discipline is saying no, even when cake says yes.
And sometimes… the strongest flex is not at the gym. 😌✨