Ordinary Days

One thing you realize about writing every day is just how boring everyday life can be. Not boring in a bad sense, just boring in its ordinariness. I was talking to a friend last night and got the normal what-did-you-do-today question, and I had to think for a moment about what I’d say because the highlight was driving into town for guitar strings and finding the store closed, then eating lunch, which consisted of a hamburger and fries.

The rest of the day was given over to me playing the guitar, writing, and taking a short walk to get some winter sun. I’m also digging up a plant I want to remove and finding it way more difficult than I imagined at the start. In fact, it’s a brutal reminder of my age and diminished physical skills. I can still swing a pickaxe, but not all day. So, I have to pace myself because there’s also the matter of my chronic bad back.

In the end, however, I like to remind myself there are plenty of people my age who still go to work every day to make ends meet. That’s a sobering thought and makes an otherwise boring day seem like a trip to Acapulco, an exceptional-out-of-reach day for some. So, that’s why I don’t want to whine. Something exciting is bound to happen sooner or later, and maybe an insight will show up, too. I just need to keep my eye’s peeled and my heart wide open.