Most days are a blur of routine acts. They are undistinguished in that, if I stay the course, if I do not let some devilish thought fester and take control of my time, I can, at the end of the day at the very least say – I did no harm.
Looking over this day (and it’s not over yet), I can see failure sprinkled up and down every contour and crevice, every hour of its short sunlit expanse.
Chronologically: I slept in. I can’t remember the last time I did not take charge of my day until it was nearly the next meal, but today had slow start written all over it.
Pushing aside the granola, I instead went to the local café, ordered a latte, bit into a greasy muffin and read the travel section of the NYT. Cover to cover.
On an errand at Best Buy, I fell in love. So much so that I could not take my eyes off of…it. A small, two pound baby, easy to transport, easy to cuddle. Completely unaffordable.
True, I did not purchase it, but I was tempted beyond belief. Suddenly, $59 per month for four years seemed entirely reasonable.
Eventually, home alone, I decided to call a person whom I should be calling on at least a weekly basis, but whom I do not have the moral courage to call more than once per month. Alright, sometimes less than that. And naturally, I did get in trouble for my general incompetence as a human being (including the noncalling thing). Explaining why I was terrified of dialing said number more often was absolutely the stupidest thing I could have done. The party in question hung up on me.
The odd thing is, if I had to do this day all over again, I would do it in exactly the same way.