Life is a novelty.
It feels like everything I have worked for the past few years, all my goals, hopes, dreams and aspirations have miraculously and momentarily come true.
The ability to sit back and take in an objective view is tremendously overwhelming. Even as I force myself to write down what has happened, my hands are trembling from the trepidation that somehow, someway, all of this will just as magically disappear and I will return to my usual self. But that seems unlikely, inconceivable and upmost, inconvenient.
But life does definitely feel like a novelty.
My daily routine now comprises of activities that I once dreamt of and all of it played out surrealistically. The act of taking out the garbage, placing clothes in the dryer and stacking dishes were once all meaningless and autonomous tasks, but now illicit the guiltiest of pleasures and satisfaction. The act of sitting down in front of the television, picking foodstuff off the floor and gazing out the window are all performed with a certain amount of glee, definitely a lot more than what is required. I once dreaded going to work, but now, I look forward to stepping out and what the day will bring because I know at the end of it, I’ll be coming home.
At least life is a happy novel.
And with that, I feel safe to finally declare that I do feel content. Everything I have worked for, hoped for and desired for has reached fulfilment. And if the crushing weight of reality causes everything to fall apart, I at least I will still have an apartment full of stuff.
posted by tykang @ 6/27/2006 09:53:00 PM
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