I’m dead tired, but I’m happy. it sounds contradictory I know but it’s a rather satisfying feeling. Like slipping into a mildly warm bath at the end of a really really long day. Its at a time like this that Adulting becomes less of a vague outlandish concept with nothing to do with us and more of a reality woven from repeated failures, bones screaming at you that they’ll unionize and go on strike if you so much as move a finger and best of all, the small sweet triumphs that make it all seem worth it, well at least before the cycle of drudgery begins all over again.
I’m tempted to describe in detail the cause and effect of my current state of mind but why bother? context is overrated I always say (a position I will maintain on pain of death via English teachers with pitchforks.) Its oh so much more fun to maintain things in a beautifully vague manner, and you can wrap the meaning of the words to whatsoever context you desire. With the chaos that has been the past few years, it has become something of an art form to go with the blur, to forget oneself in a whirlwind of, well whatever makes the world spin for us at a particular moment, emotion, riches, love or romance (these two are not to be confused its like Kenyan and Tanzanian Swahili, close, but not quite the same.)
Happiness, I’ve come to learn is in sometimes being able to completely disregard the method and give in to the madness. Of course, its highly likely I’ll completely deny this perception of happiness when I get a so called “level up” in life, but it makes me happy to think like this right now, and that’s all that matters right? Otherwise? Why are you three hundred words into an article with clearly no direction whatsoever? The beauty of life is in the small things, teeny pretty flowers, tiny cute babies and a tiny fleeting smile from that human being you are sure is into you but can never be quite too sure (They probably aren’t, sorry.)
Sip some tea, lick a monkey, follow a goose, read a book, give that task that’s been begging for attention on your desk some love, you’ll realize the satisfaction that comes from the incredibly mundane things. But then again, what do I know? It just makes me happy to write this, and so I have, find your thing, close your eyes and smell your thing, hug them (with consent of course, I said I’m doing away with context, not political correctness.) Maybe one of those sweet things or nothings is your Cinderella, and you can slip a glass slipper on that baby and dance away to happily ever after.