Walking up on a sunny Monday morning is suddenly a pleasure to me.
No grogginess, barely, if any, no, not any desire to be back in bed.
I revel in the pleasure of the sun's touch through the café side window,
a warm tingle on my uncovered arm happily triggers my spine surge.
And my breakfast, a $5.34 oatmeal + strawberries I bought at the neighborhood coffee shop, seems bright and fresh.
I notice that, in a regular day, its appearance would've been prosaic and utilitarian at best, had I noticed it even as anything more than another task to complete, another obstacle to overcome on my wild race towards other tasks, towards nowhere. Is this by-product of last evening's group meeting?
No grogginess, barely, if any, no, not any desire to be back in bed.
I revel in the pleasure of the sun's touch through the café side window,
a warm tingle on my uncovered arm happily triggers my spine surge.
And my breakfast, a $5.34 oatmeal + strawberries I bought at the neighborhood coffee shop, seems bright and fresh.
I notice that, in a regular day, its appearance would've been prosaic and utilitarian at best, had I noticed it even as anything more than another task to complete, another obstacle to overcome on my wild race towards other tasks, towards nowhere. Is this by-product of last evening's group meeting?
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