What remains of the day Pt. II

Beside the swimming pool, he plunges inside without slowly treading himself into the water like he usually does, nor the flickering of water on to his upper body while half submerged as well. Just instantly, jumped inside, even though with slight hesitation. 

Raising his head up from the water from the initial dive, he begins to search for it like he always does. 

For him, swimming and hanging around the pool is like meditation. The lukewarm water that he settles into provides the perfect atmosphere for a bit of self-thought and wander. Without an immediate task at hand, he wants to take his mind on a little walk, on a little search for something that illuminates in the distance faintly. 

He walks and walks; no good. A smog covered it up, whatever he was searching for. He swims to the other side of the swimming pool, revealing his head again into the cool and cold of the air but still; no good. 

He looks in to the distance, seeing the apartment he lives in but not really looking at it, and hits the cul-de-sac. For today, is there nothing else in your being except for the paycheck, the relationship between you and your boss, ink-filled books, the word-filled word doc on the pixel-filled computer, to be converted by the printing machine into the former, or what to do during the little off time that has been so graciously given to you by your boss? All he wanted to do was to wander away from that, but the world, which seemed to his young self as a noisy place only with too much not too little, now responded to him in fierce silence, looked back at the window to his soul with with the face of an 21st century midwest mass-built apartment complex in the suburbs of Detroit. He conditioned his mind to help himself elevate, elevated to the penthouse, promoted to be a supervisor, fulfilled in the standard of the American dream, but as he leisurely stares into the distance, he now realizes that Pavlov himself thought of feeding dogs each time he heard a bell ring, and that Pavlov’s mind would be confined too just like the object of his confinement. He was both the Pavlov and the Dog.