If frustration is unmet expectations, and contentment is the opposite of frustration, then I was contented to see four men peeing on the sidewalk on my way home from work yesterday.
Following that stream of thought (pun intended), last week I was in an underdeveloped marketplace around dinner time, so I found the least sketchy-looking eatery I could -- an Asian restaurant, creatively called The Asian Restaurant -- and sat down inside beside a large window to peruse the menu. As I did so, an Asian woman in a floral dress stood up from a nearby table, strode briskly outside through the front door, stopped just outside my window, and threw up.
I watched with neither interest nor disinterest. I was not disinterested because I felt that I needed to see what was splashing onto the concrete -- noodles? Chicken Maii? Stir fry? -- so as to take special care to order something besides the regurgitated meal. Yet I was not interested because I feel it unbecoming to be interested in vomit. Indeed, life oozes paradoxes such as these, pun intended.