Perfect Day

*This is a companion piece to a similarly-themed article on Karen’s site which, all things being equal, should be published at roughly the same time. We have not read each others entries before publishing, and have taken care not to discuss them.*

*Title suggested by an unreliable witness.*

I don’t think that I’ve ever had a perfect day. I’ve had lots of very good ones. I’ve had many that have stuck in my memory, usually because someone did something that surprised me, and made me see them in a new light, and now whenever I think of that person, I always think of that day. I’ve had one or two that have been so magnificent that I have emerged from them as a different person. And every single day that I spend with Karen and Bernard is, in its own way, perfect.

My first attempt at writing this post consisted of an attempt to plan a perfect day. I wrote down all my favourite things in the world, squeezing them into a 24 hour window, with a few little placeholders for unexpected surprises (to add a bit of gravy). But the end result was disappointing. Most of it seemed so superficial and egocentric, and though I naturally wish for good things for myself, I don’t think that getting everything that I want would make the day perfect. I think that any attempt to define a perfect day would be futile, as it would be bounded by the limits of your own imagination.

On the whole, I’m pretty content. I’ve got everything that I want. My dad’s doing pretty well too. So, for me, a perfect day would be one where my mum and my sister both get the things that they need to make them happy. My sister knows what she wants, and she’s making progress in that direction, so I hope that some day soon she’ll conquer ((reader, I’m struggling to hold back the tears at the thought)). My mother is in touch with her emotions (though not necessarily in control of them) so she can articulate the things that she is missing, but she doesn’t know how to get them, and nor do I. But I try not to lose hope.