I, observational.

I have started days -- many of them -- with a commitment to going through the motions. I have marked time with memories and taken note of the changes.

I realized yesterday, while watching a movie that I'd only just gotten around to watching, that I have come a long way. I took further note of it in the wee hours, before I gave in to sleep. Yesterday, it was okay to relax and have a day. With work submitted and obligations not yet on the calendar, I was free. And it was new to me. These past few days, brewing coffee and making lunch and running errands and doing dishes and the very most ordinary sort of activities have provided me with...ballast. It's a curious sensation to be holding dissatisfaction at arm's length. Even for a day.

I recall the duality of the start of the day. Being glad to be up and out. Being dismayed to be required to sit still. Being drawn to the window and what lay within its frame. Being anxious to be somewhere else. My days begin differently, now. And they never end.