I watch soap operas. I bake brownies. Normalcy is coursing through my veins.
Life excites me-just little, normal, everyday things. Getting out of bed. Getting dressed. Making food. I find it all exciting.
The word 'mundane' has come to mean 'boring' and 'dull', and it really shouldn't - it should mean the opposite. Because it comes from the latin mundus, meaning 'the world'. And the world is anything but dull: The world is wonderful. There's real poetry in the real world. Science is the poetry of reality.
...the routine of life goes on, whatever happens, we do the same things, go through the little performance of eating, sleeping, washing. No crisis can break through the crust of habit.
Oh, how daily life is.
Oh, how daily life is. (Ah, que la vie est quotidienne.)
Somewhere, a long way away, people are doing sensible things like mowing lawns and digging gardens.
I don't deal with the nuts and bolts of life.
I don't get rattled about the big things. I get rattled when I have to pick up my laundry, get gas in the car, pick up a script.
Grief reveals itself in the most mundane activities, like eating. It's never when you're looking at old pictures.
If you want to write what the world is about, you have to write details...real life is in the dishes. Real life is pushing strollers up the street, folding T-shirts, the alarm clock going off early and you dropping into bed exhausted every night. That's real life.
I don't understand writers who feel they shouldn't have to do any of the ordinary things of life, because I think that this is necessary: one has to keep in touch with that... The ordinary action of taking a dress down to the dry cleaner's or spraying some plants infected with greenfly is a very sane and good thing to do. It brings one back, so to speak. It also brings the world back.
It may arrive in the instant when we are doing something mundane, like putting our front-door key in the lock; it may lie hidden in the quiet that follows the lunch hour or in the thousand and one things that all seem the same to us.
I live with myself. I wake up with myself, I eat, and I take a dump with myself. I don't see anything special there. I do all the same things other human beings and creatures do. I don't see any need to be telling the data of the day of this particular human being by posting it on online. It's not interesting to me.
I always forget about some of the things I've done, because you do 'em, and sometimes they don't come out, and... most of it's almost like daily chores or something. You check it off your list, and then it's gone.
At the drabber moments of my life (swilling some excrement from the steps, for instance, or rooting with a bent coat-hanger down a blocked sink) thoughts occur like 'I bet Tom Stoppard doesn't have to do this' or There is no doubt David Hare would have deputed this to an underling.'
Altough we all realize that monotony is boring, almost every form of industrial work- banking, accounting, mass-producing, service- is monotonous, and most people are paid for simply putting up with monotony
Life seems but a quick succession of busy nothings.
If there were teenagers who had a video camera and saw what I did on a daily basis, they'd be bored out of their mind.
There seems to be an unalterable contradiction between the human mind and its employments. How can a soul be a merchant? What relation to an immortal being have the price of linseed, the brokerage on hemp? Can an undying creature debit petty expenses and charge for carriage paid? The soul ties its shoes; the mind washes its hands in a basin. All is incongruous.
The passage of time eliminates some of the more intimate details of one's existence. The routine trivia like passing water and shitting and the amount of food and alcohol consumed in the course of daily survival. Sure, there were girls. Lots of'em. It's inevitable.
What I do is not curing cancer or rocket science or lead mining - anything tremendously difficult or world changing. I understand where I am in the cosmic order of things, and I'm OK with it.
In self-examination, take no account of yourself by your thoughts and resolutions in the days of religion and solemnity; examine how it is with you in the days of ordinary conversation and in the circumstances of secular employment.
I'm a normal person and I don't have superpowers! I do normal things, too.
All the daily routine of life, our dressing and undressing, the coming and going from our work or carrying through of its various operations, is utterly without mental reference to pleasure and pain, except under rarely realized conditions.
