And so with that uniquely human skill of making the extraordinary mundane, you settle back into a life of routine, passing your days not all that differently than you did before.
Except that you tie your life into knots, flitting around as you see fit – visiting winter from the balmy height of summer, enjoying spring days from the coldest depths of winter, thwarting the cliff-hangers of your favourite shows, skipping from end-credits to sequels in a heartbeat, unbeholden to publication dates, release dates, the intractable rotation of the firmament.
And when you are hungover, you are visited by yourself, and they cook you breakfast and rub your shoulders. And on days when you have nothing to do, you visit yourself on a day when you had nothing to do and amuse yourself.
And your life may be uneventful, but it is satisfying and pleasant and you are happy. What more is there than that?