While it had a notable start (sex in the morning really can't be scoffed at), the day sort of petered out from there. One would think that starting the day with the horizontal mambo would mean only exceptional things for the hours ahead. But strangely, it didn't. It was as though there was not going to be anything else noteworthy for the rest of the day, so the day kind of crumbled in on itself.
And my mood followed suite. By evening, I felt like I had had my life force drained out of me. There was no more oomph. No fresh air. Just heaviness. And tiredness. And a real absence of inspiration.
To make matters worse, I had stumbled upon some overly cheerful optimist's column that afternoon which lauded finding beauty in every day. Cherishing every breath. Looking for something miraculous during your waking hours. Of course I wanted to vomit, but that would have meant that I'd have to clean up, so to save myself the trouble, I didn't. But I wanted to.
By the time 9pm rolled along, I was ready to sign off. Finito. This chick was emotionally bankrupt. So I made my apologies and fell into my bed, where, just by the way, I felt happier than I had ALL day long (except that first part, where we were riding the five legged pony, but it had been so long ago, that it didn't really count anymore).
So, new day. And when I opened my eyes, I wondered how it would be any different to its predecessor. Well, for a start, I did not rock the casbah. Disappointing.
"Hmmph," I thought to myself, "Beauty in every day, huh? I still have to make the sarmies that I didn't do last night." I pulled myself up and started the day.
By the time the school run was complete, I found myself at home tending to some important matters - the things that I didn't look at when they arrived, and while they had been conveniently forgotten about, the rascals had been getting up to all kinds of antics of their own and had multiplied copiously. I had to tend to many of them this morning because little baby matters were starting to pop up between the important matters - and that's just messy.
One of the important matters required me to get my hands dirty in the garden. I stripped off the oh-so-impressive school-visiting attire and donned the more appropriate garden-tramp uniform with socks-in-crocs. I looked fabulous! Off I went.
An hour later I trudged mud through the house (which I had to clean up - oh joy! beauty in top-soil! and other such jubilant crap).
As I prepared to revive the school-visiting goddess look I had mustered up before, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My mud-bedecked dirt-bus image reflected in the mirror. And I realised the moment of beauty. I hadn't taken off my pearls when I'd changed earlier. And there I was: filthy, stinky, and wearing pearls. It was one of those life-defining moments that you try and share with people but know that no-one could possibly get it because they weren't there at the time. Something like what I'm doing right now.
But it mattered to me.
And I think that I will always garden in my pearls from now on.
