Balance

It was enough, today, to not wash my hair. Just twist it up in messy knot entwined with my Grandmother's silk scarf.  It was enough to recover an old necklace pendant that didn't match my outfit, and wear it anyhow.  It was enough to make a nonsensical, too-much-money purchase in a store that oozed out heavy perfume and character.  It was more than enough to lean up against a wooden coffee bar, and listen as the barista explained the process of the cappuccino, made for me. 
Everyone is so drunk on excess pleasure; so Hellbent on infusing every living moment with a conjured up notion of creativity, colour, and motion - in the mission of attaining, they're so numb they've forgotten how to feel, or sense, or envision - myself included.
When your life has become a beige pattern ruled by times, apparel, and expectations, a little goes a long way.  I complain more than I care to admit about choices I freely made, knowing rules came with the deal before ever sealing it.  I've underestimated how much these "cramping" restrictions have shown me: the stark reality of other things, such as, "contentment" and what it truly means: That it isn't a breezy sort of happy that fluctuates as as easily as a prairie wind; that it's a constant - or should be - habit formed, and reformed.  Sometimes the reforming hurts the most.
It is enough to pause mid-schedule and let go a little bit.  Not everything.  Not stupidly. Not completely.  Not irrationally.  But enough.
It is enough to pay extra for good coffee, to skip a class, to daydream.