Sometimes, they surprise you…

Indeed, they do. “They,” you ask now? What “they”?

I am speaking of days : no two are alike, and certainly some of them turn out in most unexpected ways. As an example of this claim, I would gladly bring today.

I’ve heard of people saying that how a day begins can be indicative of how it will continue. Nothing could be further from the truth, I dare say. This morning I woke up around five different times : starting at 3:30 AM (alarm clock), then 5:53 AM (no alarm clock), sometime past seven (again, accidental, more due to a bad song than anything else), and finally two times that were between 8 AM and the time just a minute before my next alarm would have rung (at 8:52). Now, it would be reasonable to say that all of this waking-and-sleeping should have killed any day in its infancy, but not so this time round.

Firstly, the dream. The dream was exceptional. I do not use words of this magnitude (exceptional) very often (indeed, I use them less than rarely), but of this dream I can say nothing less (and yet I will not describe it). Suffice to say, it was a form of peace.

Then, the morning continued in one way or another, but given I don’t remember much of it I deduce I likely read mail, checked the news, possibly even ate something — all those usual morning activities most people don’t really take an interest in, but which enhance the day and bring one up to date on what is going on : not only in the world and country, but also in one’s mind and house (or the other way round, if that be more aesthetically pleasing).

Some time after, I managed to get my bicycle out and get to work — which was somewhat better than last time, and yet there is room for improvement. Never mind that, had some fun conversations there and learned a few new tricks — and got back as well.

While coming back, a fortunate incident (named “planned cycle route”) took me past Eaton Park where people were playing classical music so I decided to listen to them for a while, and that’s what I did. Possibly not the finest melodies played (suffice to say, Johann Strauss was severely lacking) but it enhanced the day.

And now, the evening : in quiet it has passed, and that is for the better. It is good that Sundays can end quietly; for I believe that Sunday will forever be the end of a week, and not the beginning of one.

But the better a terms one ends it on, the easier and more pleasurable to start a new one… So, on we go !

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