I remember a lecturer accusing me once of paying more attention to the details than the bigger picture. I didn’t have the wit or balls to reply. I just took it on the chin. And he was right, to some extent. I see small. I like small. Small is all I can handle, mostly. Up close. You know. Details see me through, or at least noticing and paying attention to them. I notice the small things as I walk, the domestic Christmas trees, the lights, those small attempts at cheer. It sees me through. I celebrate the endeavour. The morning comes now and I’m almost done with the fiddly bits I need to deal with each morning, clearing the decks for the work day.
The library pack up the books for me with a rubber band. A nice touch. What whoppers. There’s my Christmas taken care of, eh?