A trapped butterfly

Today has been one of those days which you wish you could start all over again. I woke up late, I had a million phonecalls which I was too busy to deal with, and that's not even mentioning the real tragedy. For instance, there was a butterfly trapped in the greenhouse. And then Bella smacked Jake one for kissing her (she is beyond insane! I would smack Edward if he got his disgusting, freezing hands on me...)

Okay, maybe I have my priorities all mixed up, and fictional love triangles really have nothing to do with why I feel so rubbish, but they certainly don't help. The day is dull, the sun hasn't made an appearance, and of course, it's a Monday.

I don't know why Mondays have to be so lame. Sundays are evidently the worst (and most boring) day of the week, but they are immediately followed by their close competitor. Mondays insist on rain or clouds, or, ideally, both. They like maths and logic and tripping you up. They like missed buses and angry wasps. Even when you're not at work, Mondays are seldom joyful dots on the calendar.

But am I missing something? Did I forget that today I woke up and had food in the fridge? Did I forget that I watched Neighbours at lunchtime? A rare treat these days. And did I forget that Bella's fist wasn't even felt by Mr Jacob Black? And that his chortle at her disgust made me laugh out loud myself?

When the sun comes back out I may smile. Or maybe tomorrow when I know it is no longer a Monday, far away from a Sunday and suddenly I am able to pick up on all the little good things that happen during a day.

Or, alternatively, I could begin right now. Afterall, I think the butterfly escaped :)

Tracing Marks

Today I was sat on a train on a particularly long journey and it was a busy service. I hadn't been able to reserve tickets, and I wound up sat next to a little old lady. Her face was as wrinkled as an old map, the type which has been folded and unfolded, and folded and unfolded over and over again. As I considered this; her face, the lines on her hands...I decided that, in a way, being old is like having your journal tatooed all over your body. Everyone can see traces of your life right there on your skin. Wrinkles which started as laughter, smiles, frowns and facial expressions born from tragedy, fun, comedy and romance. I don't know the back story of every line, but I know they're there. I can only wonder at the back story. That occupied me for some part of the journey actually.

A few seats across from me sat a lady engrossed in a book. It looked like exactly my type of book actually. Chick lit. She turned over the page, eating a KitKat, a smile on her face. Was it a funny book? Or was it some romantic moment which she had been waiting for whilst reading each previous page? The smile she made as she read would be traceable on her face in later years. That book made a mark.

Then, right across the aisle from me were a couple. And here lies something I've talked about before, and something which continues to preoccupy my mind constantly. You see, I suppose nothing would be noticeable about them, apart from this wasn't the first time I'd seen them. On Friday when I'd taken the same train journey in the opposite direction, the same couple had been sat across the aisle from me. And so they are a perfect example of those people you cross paths with, yet you don't know what bearing they will have on your life. If any. Well, I took note then. Mr was reading a scary book, had earphones in. Mrs was also reading a book. She looked happy, you know. They both did. I came to wonder what they had been doing for the weekend. That made a mark.

People watching might be a great way to entertain yourself on a long journey, but you won't realise how much meaning you'll take from it.