I wake up. I boil water and make coffee. I write in the basement. I wash up. I go to my first meeting, my second, make a phone call, make another. I go to the office. I work through a pile of tasks on sticky notes. I respond to some emails. I walk to my car and run some errands. Lost and found at the car rental place. Drop off a book for a friend. Pick up frozen pizza at the grocery store. I drive toward home. My mind is wandering. I miss my exit. I drive the long way. Get home and let the dogs out. Notice the wind. Bake pizza. Respond to some other emails. I welcome Lauren home. I talk with Lauren. We eat. Little bit of Netflix. Little bit of a book. Shower and to bed.
I need mundane days that are strung together by moments and interactions that each hide an element of intrigue. Where hot water dirtied with the seeds of an earth plant is an alchemical ritual that I call morning coffee. Where I revel in the different voices and ideas of others who are employing the same faculties as me. Where I get to tackle tasks on sticky notes with the singular devotion of a desert hermit. Where the lost and found becomes a playground of mystery and possibility. Where I welcome revelations from good stories, good conversation, and decent pizza.
I need days where I wake up thirsty for life and go to sleep somewhat but not all the way slaked.