Bookmark #713

Another day spent sitting on this chair, facing one screen after the other. The immovable desk, the constant moment, the perpetual rains that have not paused for a second these past few days have remained. I have stayed in place, staring at the drops trickle and race each other over the glass panel around the balcony, measuring its length only to fall into a tiny puddle and disappear forever. In the morbid obsession of getting things done and finding solutions to problems I could not care about if I were not being paid for it, I made some comparison between all of us and the drops, but then, owing to it being cliche, I decided to let it all vanish, too. Dullness all around; why add more to the puddle?

I often end my days with disappointment that settles as comfortably as a guest who sits on your couch with a thump and sigh. The light frustration of not amounting to whatever I set out to be and then finding something else to find meaning in, as all of us do, makes its home in me, like how when you are out for breakfast with your friends, and you ask the server if they have orange juice, and when they tell you they don’t, it does not take you long to ask them what else is there. It does not matter what is there for as long as there is juice, and so, when they say watermelon, you don’t think twice before ordering it. When you are twenty-six, almost twenty-seven, a bit differently than you’d imagined, you don’t complain or flail and wail in agony. You turn the music on at the end of a day in a long series of days, and you take a swig of whatever sits at the desk—water, whiskey, tea, coffee; it does not matter, for nothing matters as long as there is something to drink. It is the sip that counts. All that matters is that something exists, that you are something, that there is something, whether it is one way or the other bears no meaning.

My optimism for anything grand to happen wanes like accidental sunlight on a moist day, realising all of a sudden that it does not matter whether it shows its face or not; the rain will carry on as it does, as it has, as it will.

The day is over. Neither the sun nor I have anything to show for it.