Normality

I find it peculiar when mundane things define my life. When the crossword is replaced by a stupid SuDoku in the newspaper...when I have to stoop to eating plain English muffins because the plaza cafe closed before I could get butter or peanut butter or jam...when the lack of notifications on facebook infuriates me...
BUT THEN: when something exciting happens, such as putting on a animal print dress to attend a ritzy event by default, getting picked up over tomato cheese soup in a cup, and thought of something less that straight for the third time in one week, then I am happy.
I hate to be forced to ponder the lame-ness of my life. This over-analysis is such a flaw in myself; but I find I only ponder the lame-ness when my life is indeed lame, and actually, when a broader perspective is taken, my life is not lame at all. So as long as semi-entertaining things happen, or as long as I make them happen (i.e. frequenting a parlor on West Leonard, buying a Woodstock T-shirt, pretending to be British...) I'm a pretty damn content person.
On the ironic flip side...when these 'exciting' events do occur, sometimes I miss the routine things. I miss my morning coffee from the Keurig, I miss my large double bed all to myself, I long for a day full of nothing. And visa versa. It's this horrible circular pattern that I maintain: either catastrophic events or simple pleasures make life all worth it to me. I don't know if this is due to my particular frame of mind and mood on any given day. But.
There are days I want to lie in a bed that's not my own; to have a totally irregular weekend, full of both nothing and everything, back and forth; where I eat at strange times and sleep at even more odd intervals; where I meet people I don't know, and can say and do whatever I want.
And then there are days when I want to wake up at 7:35am, dry off from the steamy shower with my yellow towels, wear the jeans I've had since sophomore year of high school, go to work and do absolutely nothing productive, not pay attention in class, and then go home, eat a toasted cheese, fiddle around of stumbleupon, hardly talk to anyone, and go to bed between the green jersey sheets of my double bed, the venice canal poster not even catching my eye.
And then there are days when I want to GO out and DO things and SEE things and be someone totally new; someone full of hot air, vibrant and self secure and strangely friendly yet standoffish...and I want to be alone and with others all at the same time.
I think. I might be like....tri-polar.