Contentness in terms of normalcy, contentness in terms of happiness, and contentness in terms of sheer nothingness.
Let me tell you how I basked in my momentary contentness yesterday.
In the morning, Cliff and I woke up, decided we wanted pancakes, and walked to a local breakfast chain downtown. We waited around 20 minutes to be seated. In Cincinnati, we don't expect waits. It's just the way it is in this city, unlike Portland, for example. The developing area of OTR is certainly expecting waits since they don't take reservations and are only open in the evenings. This attracts the "trendy" crowd looking for after-work drinks and excuses to dress up. We don't go there, so we never wait.
Regardless, it made me appreciate the wait. It reminded me how great cities can be: bustling with people first thing in the morning. Long lines wrapped around buildings for some notorious brunch joint. Nothing excites me more than the urban residence of my future.
It was great to wake up, decide, and walk out without getting dressed (well, I was, sans makeup. And Cliff wasn't).
After, we took the liberty to be great citizens of the great US by partaking in consumerism via Target. After some time of aimless browsing, I bought a glass water canteen (to help me be more water-conscious despite that it will make me go pee at least five times in one hour).
That was an example of my day time activity of momentary contentness. In the evening, we walked towards Bunbury and spotted some sweet seats behind Yeatman's Cove and was able to watch MGMT with perfect view and great acoustics. We just saved $65 and ditched the sweaty masses of weed-scented dreadlocks and hula hoop girls.
One day, these times of normal, mundane events will be struck by an unlucky lightning bolt. It'll be quick, but it makes situations a great tragedy. But yesterday, company was perfect and conversation was plenty. Such is my momentary contentness.
