Sitting in my black chair with a wet dog shivering on a towel next to me, I’m ready to finish this day. I’ve got one more set of push ups to complete, then I’m done. It was haircut day for my stinky little dog, Grace, followed by a bath. She lays on her towel looking at me with disappointment and betrayal. She doesn’t like these days. I understand.
While I wasn’t manhandled by a giant holding a pair of scissors, who proceeded to indelicately chop fur in sensitive areas, the day was unexceptional. Nothing dire occurred today, but nothing grand happened either. It was just an imperfect day. It wasn’t rich and it wasn’t poor. Like most of the other ones.
I don’t really mind them. I prefer days with a little more shine, but a regular day isn’t too bad. Imperfect is ok by me. In fact, perfection is a unreasonable expectation for anything. I’ve certainly had perfect moments, when the world feels right and I wouldn’t wish myself anyplace other than where I am. But, these don’t happen every day. I look for them, though…