THE days I strive to fill with spectacular are the worst days ever.I have too many unreal expectations of myself and of all those around me. On such days I assume the weather to be good,the light cheerful.And without a doubt a fine breeze to blow bouncy bubbles. I seek cooperation from universes , big and small. And quiet in my own world.
I pretend that after yesterday’s temper blizzards ,the toddler will be peaceful. There will at least be a lull before the storm. It will be easy to find a detour around the daily drudgery and crack my boots in a new neck of the woods. I blow gently to make a big bubble so big it looks like a rainbow exploded inside.
I have set myself up for failure, I realize early on. The all too structured day punctures the air ball. Brutally bursts my bubble. POP. I wipe the slight splash and pack away the spilled contents of discontent back into the brain box.
I am ready to be a picture of mediocre misery once more.
Well the same old, same old.
On days ordinary when I am not on any secret missions to the extra-ordinary, I am content in the familiar . It is then that things really start to happen. When exceptions get allowed and exemptions follow suit. New explorations to boot.
When like bubbles , I am gently lifted.
To find that I can rise above the ordinary.