The light outside has begun to fade, and the city has called it a day. I shut everything off and take the last leftover sip from my coffee. Then, it occurs to me this was the fourth cup I had today and the ridiculousness of still feeling sleepy. The pointlessness of these cups of coffee and how they do nothing for me makes me chuckle every time I set a mug down at any table, but then, habits are habits, and there is little you can do about the few that are not as terrible as some others. But regardless, the day is over, and Saturday couldn’t arrive sooner. Some weeks are heavy not because something major happens but because nothing happens at all! They are so run of the mill; they take a large bite out of your soul in their banality. This was a week like that, and every moment from it was spent waiting for it to end. And then what? What did I think would happen? Nothing, but despite the air being still and dead, we can hope for eventfulness, we can hope for a bit of rain. It’s the least you can ask from life, after all—for things to happen.
Someday many days from now, I will be lying in the grass under the shade of some sprawling tree, and that will be all I do for the day. That, too, will be uneventful, but I believe it will not feel so heavy. I cannot say why. You just know about some things.
You have some money now, they ask me, why don’t you do it? I believe only those born with it clutched loosely in their hands have the audacity to make remarks like that; the rest of us know it rarely is just about the money.
But there will be a day like that, and then, all these days will be distant and blurry, and whether they were eventful or otherwise would be a moot point. As I write these words, I look at the growing towers of books I have bought surrounding the tenements of the few I have read. Yes, I will get to all of you, too, I sigh. I will get to all of it. There is still time. This has all just begun, and I am ahead of where I thought I would be by now. It’s all well on its way.
There are just weeks like the one I just had that I must get through, one by one, over and over. Patience is all living is about—patience and looking at the sun now and then.