A box with 24 different sections lies empty in front. Scattered pieces of fittings, big and small, asking me to pick and put ’em inside that box.
As I look at the moonlit sky and the reflecting stairs outta this window, I give it a thought. A sequence forms in my head. A plan to fit most of those pieces in that box. My eyes hum a different tune altogether. My already tired body doesn’t seem to enjoy the view. The pull of the pillow is stronger today.
Planning how the 24 would be stacked together has never been my forte, anyway. How would today be different?
There’s just too many things to fit in numbered sections. Few will be left out. But isn’t that the norm?
Somehow I try to fit a few extra ones to push and close the box. Wishing, in the process, that it doesn’t blow up in my face. Like always.
It’s not that bad. It’s just normal.
Perfectly packing up the 24 isn’t possible. There’ll be a surplus on a few things and deficiency in others.
We’ll be happy to have a few things and might feel just the opposite emotional sets based on what comes after we let the box open up.
That’s just like another day. Oh, wait, what was I talking about, anyway?