Bookmark #880

It is a quiet Sunday, and I am waiting for a truck to arrive with the odds and ends that will make this flat a home. And not much, no, but what is a home without a few mildly unnecessary things? And as I wait, the music is playing, and it is soft and compassionate, like a friendly stranger in your new apartment building who tells you their name and then says it twice, knowing all too well how people often need repetition for things like these, especially when they are on their way up in the elevator with boxes in their hands and things on their mind. All in all, the morning treads along to become afternoon, and the truck is not here yet. How long will this day remain in this state of actionless limbo? All I know is to wait, of course. For all our flailing and crying, some of us are attuned to indescribable levels of patience. I believe it is something latent, and the only role of experience is to bring it out and activate it, like the right measure of heat needed to get the test tubes gurgling with activity in some chemist’s lab. And if I am wrong, and if this is but some inaccurate and somewhat forced metaphor, thinking of it is still an effective way to pass the time.

There is so much to do, and yet, often, one thing blocks the flow of your day like a pebble in the pipeline, stuck and struggling to pass through but preventing everything else from moving, too. Regardless, I believe this is a pointless problem to dwell on, but between things you ought to think about but do not want to and things that are easy pickings but do not matter, the latter seems more enticing on most days. And today is a day like that, so instead of spending the day worrying over things out of my sheer control, I shall worry about the truck bringing the rug, the towels, the racks, the trays, the mugs, the cutlery, the sheets, the curtains, the duvet, the many things between and around all of them. To new beginnings, I guess, whatever that may turn into.

There is little I can fix in this life; most things I can but watch unfold. And yet, in the first ten things I bought for this new life, I bought a toolkit, too.

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