I cleaned out my bag this morning - the one I carry my PC in and (when I'm traveling for work) more or less everything else, too. It wasn't that messy... I had a couple old chocolates in the bottom, a few pieces of paper I don't need any more, and some stuff to put into different pockets, but it felt good to get it organized. Really good, actually. And I realized that the amount of pleasure I derive from organizing something insignificant like that is completely disproportionate to either the amount of effort required or the real-life impact of the activity.
That's pretty cool. It's like some kind of vending machine where you put in a buck and it spits out three.
Plus, now I know how to plan my weekend.
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My weirdest irrational joy is when I go fill up at a full serve gas station and they wash my windows. I don't know why, but I feel so good because someone took the time to serve me. It's really weird, because they probably don't care and are just doing their job. I don't get the same sort of feeling from really good service at a restaurant or other forms of very intentional service. But there's something about that gas jockey removing the bugs or cleaning that bird poop off my window that gives me the warm fuzzies.
Ooohhh, on that theme, nothing can compare for me with getting my hair shampooed before (or after, when they offer) getting it cut. I had a touch-up done today before a friend's wedding this weekend, and the girl washed it once, then did it again with a very put-me-to-sleep kind of scalp massage the second time. I was calculating her tip before she even touched the scissors.
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