After a quick hiatus in the gulag that is the Chicago suburbs I have returned to my normal downtown day to day. I fell in love only twice on the Blue line this morning as I headed into work. So clearly, everything’s back to normal.
My desk was the usual shambles of tasks waiting for my keen expert eye to examine and then push off to the side so I could concentrate on writing something silly, like this. You know, normal.
I had to make more coffee this morning as the giant carafes were completely empty and no one had made more; just another normal thing to do. I just heard a co-worker say, “estaments”, instead of estimates. Yes, absolutely things are back to normal.
As it is a normal day and there are normal things going on, ergo the lack of NATO protesters or heavy police presence all through downtown, we can go about the normalcy of this boring, passionless existence.
It was the abnormal thoughts regarding passion that might have dislodged the full normalness of this average and regular day. It caught my attention on the train as a young hipster couple were so damn cute with each other it made me want to vomit with jealously. (Which is in and of itself a normal reaction for me). These two young people, holding hands with what looked like a genuine willingness to be with each other. They were cute and playful with each other and I was jealous. I want that to be my normal.
I thought about all the women I’ve felt something for, be it deep enamored love or mild contentment, and how badly I want to be wanted in the way I want to be wanted. It doesn’t sound like a normal statement I know. It sounds selfish and self-serving, but everyone wants to be wanted in a particular way. I want to want her as much as she wants me. Neither people want their wants overpowering the others; a nice even keeled mutual wanting should be the norm.
I wondered what this hipster couple’s day would be like until they were reunited later this evening after work. Would they mutually daydream about each other and be excited to see each other at the end of the day? Was this normal for people? I’d like to think it is and that’s the kind of normal I want.
Even if the day itself is completely abnormal and I’m selected to fight a Yeti in the frozen tundra with a Canadian and a Brazilian Amazonian all to the soundtrack of the classic Star Trek TV show. I would like to come home and see her, smile at her, she smile at me and we take care of my gaping thigh wound. That would make all of it as normal as hell.