It’s been a bit of a dreamy week. Well, so far, at least. Kind of in-between a slow listlessness and blissful reverie. To put it simply, I’ve been kind of rootless. Just getting around almost as if on auto-pilot. I attribute it to the sheer abundance of simplistic pleasures that was had this past weekend. Something I couldn’t put in words, and so I resorted very conveniently to articulate in not more than 55 words. While some people might think it was a case of random creative genius, it was simply the lack of words to explain how I feel.
It’s a bit like what the husband sometimes calls cutting the fat, subtracting the unnecessary, letting go of the unwanted, sticking to the basics. And there, I had myself a nice relaxed weekend, mostly spent at home. The closest I could come to explaining this feeling of being at bay, the complete relief of having no ties, was when I told the husband that I didn’t even feel compelled to do my weekend chores, and that for me is true nothingness. If I can let go of all the strings of the routine that binds my day, I know I have really let go. The effects of which seem to have seeped into the week too. Kind of hard to explain, but if what I am feeling had a soundtrack, I’d have to pick this track:
Coming off the back of the kind of weekend that I just did begs for a Bonobo-Specials day. Which mostly means I pick a few tracks and just let them loop. On and on.
I wish I could spell out just how nice it was to let go and do as I please. But I can’t seem to find the words. Some things are just like that. Inexplicable. Like the sudden spike in my love for wine. Blame it on the shiny, happy new wine glasses that were finally purchased this weekend.
Simple things, I told ya.
Momentary pleasures in going through with the general plan for the year, which is to slowly add all the simple, little things to make my home more homely. Also a good justification to take away from the fact that copious amounts of wine have been consumed by the husband and I, ever since. White, red, rosé. Entire bottle-fulls at a time, while we languidly chatted, really caught up on things: life, work, the crazy web of people’s minds, our families, watched movies, lots of The Big Bang Theory and cooked together. Lots and lots of it.
Other simplistic pleasures included finally convincing the husband to get a pedicure. Insert: evil, evil laughter here. So there we sat at the local salon, side by side, out feet bathed in warm, soapy water. Him reading his BusinessWorld, and me reading my regular people’s book, glancing sideways ever so gently to watch him take in the experience with bewilderment. At the end, I even asked him if he’d like to pick a special nail paint for himself. Yes, I’m evil like that.
Later at home, somewhere in between lazing around and feeling altogether awesome, I realised we’ve reached that point where we can sit together, without necessarily doing things together. Where just being somewhat takes over the activity at hand, or even the lack of it. Where it fills the silences, takes away the mindless chatter, fills endless hours, and brings a kind of peace in just simply being, each doing our thing. Only occasionally going over to jab, poke, tickle each other. Yes, happiness is sometimes just that simple. Even if such realisations dawn on you with the price of feeling a tad old. But happily so, if I may say so myself.
I also upped the ante on the reading I have made a beginning with. A good beginning must obviously be followed up with a good follow through. That dirty S word. Sustain. I have always sucked at it. I’ve never really known what it is to persevere, plough through and make it to the end. Almost always, things came really easy, and I never had to try too hard. It gave me the luxury not to choose, not to toil, and quickly move from one thing to another, and satisfactory outcomes kept me happy. But here’s the clincher on this new beginning. The stakes are high, and I have nobody but myself to please. And I find, that’s what is inspiring the perseverance.
Simple things. Simple happiness. Simple thoughts. Simple weekends. Simple joys. And I’m caught in a cocktail of simple, dreamy days.