Incongruous
While sitting in a particularly somber meeting today, I noticed a distinct footprint on the table. It wasn't a shoeprint, it was a footprint. I looked upward to see if there was a vent or a light or something above it. It would still be strange to see a footprint, but at least there would be some remotely logical reason for it. There was nothing up there. I was suddenly struck with a vision of someone dancing barefoot on the table. The very table where several grumpy and tired people were now sitting around. I stifled a giggle behind my hand and pretended to yawn.
Several hours later, I left my office and battled traffic for a few blocks until I reached the backroads that lead to my house. It always seems so strange to leave an office in a city and ten minutes later be driving past deer and cows and sheep and emu. It just doesn't seem to fit. I drove with all the windows down and sang loudly (and badly) along with the radio. The smell of orange blossoms and lilacs alternated with the smell of wineries and farm animals.
When I got home tonight, Cat was barbequeing dinner. I sat and played a video game until he called me to the table. Then I ate a big ol' piece of steak. That's right. I ate steak. And it was delicious.