An Ordinary Day

A rare weekend. The day started like this. My phone was out of battery in the morning, so I didn’t know what time it was. Bright light was streaming into the room through the not-quite-closed curtains—this was intentional, hoping the daylight would wake me. But I didn’t turn off the computer until 1 AM last night, and today I wanted to sleep in, so I turned on the computer: 9:17. Not as hoped, so I tried to sleep more. This morning I didn’t want to sleep too deeply. I wanted music to accompany me. Remembering the pleasant experience last time, I turned on Pandora Radio again, chose the Mozart channel, then lay back on the bed. I don’t know what kind of “Like” and “Unlike” would make the Mozart station play only Bandari-style light music, but anyway, in my hazy consciousness there were only lake views, mountain colors, and birds singing on branches—I didn’t hear a single classical symphony. Later I fell asleep. I only woke up when Lei Ge called me at the door—it was already 10:40.

Today only one person went to work, leaving three people in the room. Around noon, Wei Ge’s high school classmate arrived, nicknamed “Lei Bi.” We’ve eaten together several times. He seems extremely unreliable but has excellent eloquence. When five or six people eat together, he can talk non-stop from the moment he sits down until everyone leaves, without needing any response from others. His witty banter and scolding form their own style. Thanks to this skill, he’s dated quite a few girls—not counting one-night stands, he had at least a dozen girlfriends during university, and naturally spent quite a bit of money. In his sophomore year, he borrowed someone else’s student ID to get over fifty telecom phones, then sold them for 500 yuan each. This year telecom started auditing accounts, and it’s about to reach him—a loss of tens of thousands of yuan, and he can’t pay it back. So he’s been uneasy, worried someone will report him for fraud. But worry is worry, and he still lives carefree, spending money like flowing water. Today, as expected, he came to mooch food. Wei Ge asked me what to eat for lunch. Since I’m so familiar with Lei Bi, I skipped the “friend from afar” formalities: “Too much trouble, noodles it is!” So Wei Ge cooked two huge pots of noodles at noon, plus last night’s leftovers. We ate quite well. After eating, Lei Bi left, but not before arguing with Wei Ge about ten yuan. Who would make a special trip just for ten yuan?

In this era, some people, apart from necessary activities they force themselves to do, only have the internet to pass time. But after playing for a long time, they also get disgusted. Some people’s artistic nature comes from boredom. Thinking there was still a book I hadn’t finished, I couldn’t help but get artistic. But conditions limit that lazy afternoon dream—brewing a cup of light tea, leaning by the window quietly reading—that scene can go to hell. Poor bastards like me only deserve to lie on a straw mat with a cheap Kindle reading an out-of-copyright The Brothers Karamazov. After years of practice, I’ve determined that reading in bed has only one effect: it makes you extremely sleepy, better and stronger than sleeping pills. Before long, drowsiness came like mountains collapsing and seas roaring. I put down the Kindle and slept.

I didn’t get up until past 5 PM. There was still something I forgot to do—I needed to go to the JD.com pickup point to return something, but time didn’t allow. The few guys living together have all cooked and made meals, but I’m the only one who can’t do anything, though I’ve accumulated rich dishwashing experience. Doing one thing for too long makes both body and mind tired. I got tired of my own role. To become a creator, tonight I’m going to cook! And to gloriously complete this qualitative-to-quantitative transformation, I installed the “Xiachufang” (下厨房, “Down to the Kitchen”) app to handle possible challenges. The slogan “Practice is the sole criterion for testing truth” has been shouted for decades. When it actually needs to be applied, you suddenly realize that leaders are the sole truth of practice. Wei Ge wanted to be my military advisor. I said when stir-frying meat, add Pixian bean paste. But he directed this and that, and only after the dish was almost done did I add some bean paste to the pot. After that, the color of the chives didn’t look good, but fortunately the taste wasn’t much different. They said as long as it was edible. Sparrows don’t know the ambitions of swans—my goal is commercial-grade cuisine.

At 10 PM, I turned off the computer to read. After midnight, I turned it back on, took a shower, then came back to the computer to record these things.