A Mundane Day

To tell you the purpose of this writing would be like pretending that I am a sufficiently capable person of knowing what goes around in my head, which I am not. What I rather believe myself to be, well I can't put a finger, I would say I exist as something/someone between moments and hours and at the end of a period I contemplate which roles I like better.

I won't say I am good at this, even if I am, I mostly find the act of writing a little exhausting in all honesty. I could give you my reasons, and they might or might not pass for reasons at all. Writing is like disciplining and aligning your thoughts and mostly deciding when to push yourself to squeeze out those extra words and when to prioritize one over the other and letting it out while those other thoughts are contemplating their worth behind the bar you created to make this piece mannerly if at all.

Now that I have typed a couple of things out, I can somewhat see why I started in the first place. I needed an escape, well who doesn't. Forgive for enumerating a thousand bits and bytes of surroundings, my day here and there, if at all it is quite necessary to keep writing. It is a kind of treat I give myself for being in order. The whole act of narrating mundane things has its own joy I have observed quite often. I would say it is because when put into words when told to someone worthy enough these mundane things find their only chance to be not mundane at all but something of real significance something that is worthy enough to be told and shared and thought of.

So here I go, I woke up early today 8:00 a.m (earliest in the past many days I remember), rolled around in bed for half an hour, responding to messages if any scrolling the Instagram, and waiting for the 8:30 a.m alarm to go off that I had set the previous night, just in case. I took a bath and gave what seemed like one of the worst class tests ever, I guess that is the point my day stood fucked. But then I went on, ate something and slept and regretted doing at exactly 2 hours after. Then comes the best part, I went to the gym and it was the day for my favourite muscle group, I did a record weight deadlift and felt accomplished. And I won’t go on telling the rest because I'm bored with this.

I am currently reading these two beautiful books, What I Talk When I Talk About Running by Haraki Muraki and On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vyoug. The first one is a sort of memoir and the second one is a novel dripping with poetry.