Good day. Nothing special day, but somehow, good day.
I overslept. Again. I did manage to pick up my security blazer, wash my work slacks, and iron my dress shirts. Something felt different about the day, even though I doubted it would be much like yesterday. On the bus to work, as I watched the world go by through the windows, on the pretty day, I realized that this was my day. Not that I so much owned the day, but that day I belonged to no one else. I was in my uniform, in my bus, on the way to my job to make my money. My senses felt acute. The sky was bluer than usual. I smiled at passengers, and shared the smell of spiced onions coming from the grocery bag of the guy across the seats from me. I've never really felt in possession of my days. They were always like I was serving some unseen hand, outside myself, that held the minutes from me. Work was tiring, but not as tiring as before. I'm adjusting to work, which I have been hoping I would. I did my tasks without the nervousness that I didn't know what I was doing, or I was doing it too slowly. The shift passed quickly and easily. I argued the limitations of Marxist theory before developments unseen by Marx. My supervisor and a co-worker discussed the value of joining a union. There was a big fancy business party at one of the buildings in my pod, and the caterers gave the officer there a bunch of gourmets leftovers he shared with me. My bus was so late, I ended up taking the slow bus that would leave me to walk five blocks on achy feet. But in the end, I enjoyed the ride through U of Wash campus and The Ave, reading Twain. I walked in peace, enjoying the mild child of the night. Now I sit here, rat on chest, and write.... My day is done. It was really an unspectacular day, yet I feel right about life for living this day. Oh, sure, I expect days to be even better.. social life and new intellectual vistas and all that... but right now, right here, this is what I want. To live each day in my life drenched in meaning in mundanity.
Oh, and it didn't rain until I'd been home for an hour. How good is that?
I overslept. Again. I did manage to pick up my security blazer, wash my work slacks, and iron my dress shirts. Something felt different about the day, even though I doubted it would be much like yesterday. On the bus to work, as I watched the world go by through the windows, on the pretty day, I realized that this was my day. Not that I so much owned the day, but that day I belonged to no one else. I was in my uniform, in my bus, on the way to my job to make my money. My senses felt acute. The sky was bluer than usual. I smiled at passengers, and shared the smell of spiced onions coming from the grocery bag of the guy across the seats from me. I've never really felt in possession of my days. They were always like I was serving some unseen hand, outside myself, that held the minutes from me. Work was tiring, but not as tiring as before. I'm adjusting to work, which I have been hoping I would. I did my tasks without the nervousness that I didn't know what I was doing, or I was doing it too slowly. The shift passed quickly and easily. I argued the limitations of Marxist theory before developments unseen by Marx. My supervisor and a co-worker discussed the value of joining a union. There was a big fancy business party at one of the buildings in my pod, and the caterers gave the officer there a bunch of gourmets leftovers he shared with me. My bus was so late, I ended up taking the slow bus that would leave me to walk five blocks on achy feet. But in the end, I enjoyed the ride through U of Wash campus and The Ave, reading Twain. I walked in peace, enjoying the mild child of the night. Now I sit here, rat on chest, and write.... My day is done. It was really an unspectacular day, yet I feel right about life for living this day. Oh, sure, I expect days to be even better.. social life and new intellectual vistas and all that... but right now, right here, this is what I want. To live each day in my life drenched in meaning in mundanity.
Oh, and it didn't rain until I'd been home for an hour. How good is that?
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