Good days
Lately good days have been hard to find. I have my ups and downs, my slants and my drops but for the most part they're few and far between. But today? Today's different.
I wake up at 7:00am, as usual. It's Saturday but I have to go to work, and I've discovered a long time ago that it's better to wake up earlier than have an extra hour of sleep and be rushing out the door. I eat breakfast (a bowl of frozen fruit with milk) while I listen to my crime podcast, Generation Why. The theories and evidence flies, all real cases, all real people. I am riveted, my mind sunk deep into the pools and twisting rabbit holes the case presents.
At work, I force myself to stay awake and focus on the customers the best I can. I find that if I pretend to be happy, that's usually what I become. A customer catches me glancing too long in the mirror, yawning, and asks if I had a late night. I was making sure I still looked human. I laugh, a sort of hysterical, strangled laugh, and reply that I've had many late nights. My eyes are rimmed with streaks of boysenberry and I feel swollen, slow, stupid. But still I smile, and somehow I stay happy.
When I get home, the first thing I do is slide my headphones back over my ears and finish my podcast, then grab my art book and pencils. The rest of the world fades and is replaced with appeals and accusations, cotton candy and cobalt, false evidence and trials, and for a moment I fade away too. I dissolve into the space between my watercolour pencils and the paper, into the sound waves winding through my ear canals. It feels nice to fade every once and a while. Becoming as watery as my drawing is less painful than the sharp edges and unoiled hinges of reality.
In the evening, after I've done my homework, I join my family as we lay on Mom and Dad's bed. We laugh and discuss dumb movies, eat halva, take selfies, laugh. I curl up and listen, too happy that we're all together for once to say much. I like hearing my sister's voice, my dad's laugh. They've been gone for a month while they visited Canada, and I've missed lying on Dad's soft stomach while we play board games, missed watching obscure movies with my sister. They've been gone for too long, and now that we're all here I don't want it to end. This isn't reality, this is me faded. And it feels nice.
For once, this is a good day.
How often do you have good days? What are your good days like?
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| My darling sister brought me back watercolour pencils from Canada. I have no idea how to use them. |
I wake up at 7:00am, as usual. It's Saturday but I have to go to work, and I've discovered a long time ago that it's better to wake up earlier than have an extra hour of sleep and be rushing out the door. I eat breakfast (a bowl of frozen fruit with milk) while I listen to my crime podcast, Generation Why. The theories and evidence flies, all real cases, all real people. I am riveted, my mind sunk deep into the pools and twisting rabbit holes the case presents.
At work, I force myself to stay awake and focus on the customers the best I can. I find that if I pretend to be happy, that's usually what I become. A customer catches me glancing too long in the mirror, yawning, and asks if I had a late night. I was making sure I still looked human. I laugh, a sort of hysterical, strangled laugh, and reply that I've had many late nights. My eyes are rimmed with streaks of boysenberry and I feel swollen, slow, stupid. But still I smile, and somehow I stay happy.
When I get home, the first thing I do is slide my headphones back over my ears and finish my podcast, then grab my art book and pencils. The rest of the world fades and is replaced with appeals and accusations, cotton candy and cobalt, false evidence and trials, and for a moment I fade away too. I dissolve into the space between my watercolour pencils and the paper, into the sound waves winding through my ear canals. It feels nice to fade every once and a while. Becoming as watery as my drawing is less painful than the sharp edges and unoiled hinges of reality.
In the evening, after I've done my homework, I join my family as we lay on Mom and Dad's bed. We laugh and discuss dumb movies, eat halva, take selfies, laugh. I curl up and listen, too happy that we're all together for once to say much. I like hearing my sister's voice, my dad's laugh. They've been gone for a month while they visited Canada, and I've missed lying on Dad's soft stomach while we play board games, missed watching obscure movies with my sister. They've been gone for too long, and now that we're all here I don't want it to end. This isn't reality, this is me faded. And it feels nice.
For once, this is a good day.
How often do you have good days? What are your good days like?
Nice! Sounds like a great day. I love reading your prose pieces about life. The way you write them is relaxing.
ReplyDeleteToday has been pretty good. Rather unproductive, but I'm ok with that because I decided to take a small break since spring semester is over. I spent most of the day finishing the 5th season of Once Upon a Time (not awful, could've been better, but you know, the blooper reel was great XD).
It was pretty fabulous :) Thank you so much, Ashley! I love writing them, and I'm so glad you enjoy reading them!
DeleteUnproductive days are pretty good as well :D Hahaha, blooper reels are amazing!!
Sounds like a pretty productive day!
ReplyDeleteIndeed it was, indeed it was :D
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