The Story of Mundane Things

My evenings are filled with the ordinary. There are no more fancy dinners, no more clubs with latest hits playing at a volume much too high. There are just me and my houseplants. Me, sitting in front of different screens while my houseplants slowly wither away as the cold light from the window is not nearly enough this time a year. On weekdays I feel kinship to them, I, too, crave the light of the day. We sit side by side, them on the table next to my work desk, and we both peer out through the window, hoping that the day will not be gray and gloomy.

Weekends are different. But just barely. The main screen is no longer the one on my work desk, instead I hold it in my hands. Sometimes, but rarely, I will also venture outside. It is too cold now. I have never been a fan of the cold. Nor do I like excessive heat either. But at least in summer the weather invites you outside and there are things to do that help you to cool down. In winter there is nothing outside that will help me warm up. A brisk walk will maybe make me sweat inside my coat, but my lashes will still freeze, and my cheeks will still become numb.

Ordinary is not bad, though. I have grown to quite like it. My home actually looks like a home now, and I have plants other than that one sad monstera made out of plastic. When friends come over, my couch is inviting, and there is more to offer than stale coffee and store-bought cookies. As I put my work laptop away and hook my own laptop to the screen, I know I will do something that I enjoy. I have time to think about me, my life, and my priorities. I am no longer moving from one shift to another, from one party to another. It was fun when I was younger, but I am quite content now as I switch on the tv to binge-watch my favorite show and knit yet another pair of socks.

I have been contemplating getting a new bed cover as the one that I have now is too light in color for this season. It is almost time to get the fairy lights out of the cupboard.