Bookmark #750

I lie here on the rug, almost asleep, in front of the TV, and it occurs to me that this, too, is some kind of happiness. It is not the most glorious variant, sure, and indeed, not the prettiest, but it is mundane and regular. What more could I want from this moment and this day? I’ve spent the day well. It was an unremarkable day, but beautiful still. Although, I also sneezed a lot of the day away today, and sadly, that is not some metaphor. My allergies have not left me even a smidge of a window to think, and now, having huffed and puffed all day long, I am all but ready to sleep.

There was a time this would have bothered me, and I would have been cross with life, but that time has long passed. Today, despite me being slightly out of sorts and despite this day having nothing particularly noteworthy about it, I am happy I got to spend it as best as I could. Many of my friends like to spend their money on expensive shoes, and at least two admit that they do not wear them for themselves but for the world. This is not something that sits well with me and the kind of person I have become over these years—the person who is content with the type of day I just had. But it still baffles me if I think of myself doing something only for the admiration of the world at large. It is more sickening than the sniffle-snuffle I had to tolerate today. If nothing else, were I to write these words only for the world, I would have ceased my struggle years ago. If I were to live my life at the behest of what others might think of it, I reckon half the good things that happened to me would not have even had an opportunity to happen.

But tonight, I do not want to bother myself with this anymore. I am at my wit’s end; the anti-histamines have stopped working, the tea is not doing much, the tissues are running out, and my will gave out at around seven in the evening. Despite my willingness to go on and on today, I must stop here. I must let myself drift into sleep without my realising it. It has been a day so typical; I should not like to remember it, but then, how could I forget? The reminder waits for me tomorrow—quite impatiently, I might add.