I'm pretentious. I sometimes impose upon myself postures, habits, and aesthetics that are unnatural to the realities of my daily living--my background and my upbringing. These picture-perfect trapping are semi-private constructions, a sort of theater akin to the wholesome imaginings of childhood: "Today, I'm a fairy princess. I'm going wear a lot of pink and wave around this star-tipped wand because that's what princesses do. Tomorrow, I plan to be a paleontologist. I'm going to go out and dig up some dinosaur bones."
This Sunday, I got out of bed at 8:30 instead of the usual squandered time of half past noon. The house was actually tidy for a change and I had the novel sensation of getting a full night's rest. The sunlight had none of the depressing mid-afternoon hue, streaming brightly through the bay windows--and wait, did I hear some birds chirping?
I sat down with a bowl of yoghurt & strawberries to read the morning paper. Ah, this must be what it feels like to be healthy and informed. Oh yes. But I was too distracted by the act of experience to truly experience the act. Did I really enjoy this or do I simply enjoy the idea of me eating fruit & yoghurt and reading the paper at breakfast? I do love greek yoghurt. For five years, I've been going to the same place twice a month for 'yiaourti sakkoulas'. But because I rarely have time to eat breakfast at home, much of it goes to waste. It seems silly that I should be maintaining a habit that isn't even a habit, or worse, to perpetuate this myth that I must be "the type of person who..." Same with the newspapers. To be frank, I find them incredibly dull and I'm sick and tired of McCain, Obama, Clinton, and the whole election horserace. So with the pile of other things that require my attention, why do I choose to read this pabulum first thing in the morning on my day off?
Am I over-thinking this???
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