Friday, January 25, 2008
The Teeniest, Tiniest, Little Pinprick Of Space

My life? It's great. I've got my health, my friends and family, I enjoy my education, I don't really have to worry about money, I'm involved with a myriad of activities, yada yada, the list goes on. My life? It's pretty charmed.

Take, for example, my most recent Wednesday. I got up at a good hour and went to work. I had a good day with my co-worker; we chatted, snacked, gossiped, drank tea, checked our email seventeen million times and did some schoolwork (yes, nothing really 'work' related). She drove me home in the afternoon and I did not have to freeze my toes off walking to and from the bus stop. I listened to the radio and chopped garlic and onion and mushrooms and broccoli and drained chickpeas in preparation for a nice curry while on the phone with my best friend. I had a phone date with dear Emma from England. I went to class and learned about the role of the local elite in tourism, sex tourism (ick), and the cruise industry. I came home to a nice curry dinner, prepped by me and cooked by my lovely roommate. We ate homemade apple pie and played word games. I went to a voice lesson. I went to the gym. I went kayaking. I came home, and though my wet hair had frozen into little sticks of ice during the walk, I was feeling warm and fuzzy all over.

A lot of my days are like this: completely filled from one minute to the next, but I don't feel "busy", per se. I have things to do, but I'm not bogged down and feel like I'm lacking in time. I've got tons of time, but I'm choosing to fill it up with various activities that range from work to school to theatre to exercise to singing. They keep me happy. I don't feel busy, just fulfilled.

So why is it that I can have one fully fabulous day after another, and still, at the end of the night when I'm lying in bed trying to fall asleep (like right now), I feel like I'm missing something?