I guess you could say that I just wanted to write for the sake of writing.
So I do.
Today was quite the day of mundaneness, nothing extraordinary, nothing special.
I awoke. I remember having been whisked away from the most astonishing dream; I couldn’t tell you what it entailed exactly, only that it was…pleasant. I’m pretty sure that it was one of those dreams you wouldn’t mind basking in for a few additional hours (or minutes anyhow, as dreams go). However, I didn’t seek it again, but instead got ready for the day.
I went downstairs and sat at the kitchen counter, allowing the unmoving world outside my sliding glass door to stare me straight in the face. I didn’t read emails or blog posts—I probably should have since my inbox and reader are both nearing ‘overwhelming’ levels because of disuse.
I took my glass of juice and just sat.
No music. No computer. Nothing.
It was nice…and it was the only moment of complete, untainted stillness I think I was able to enjoy today—until now. Not that I mind the bustle of chaos my life is on a usual day, because I don’t.
I made the familiar three-and-a-half-mile drive to work this morning. I didn’t listen to music. I didn’t talk on the phone. I didn’t even speak. I instead listened to the steady rhythm of my car as it sped along the deserted streets.
It was nice.
And now I am finished writing. I have nothing more to say, and I am content with this. And, after all, I told you it would be mundane.
So it is.
