PART OF TODAY

You surely may have some difficulty believing this, but please do so anyway: everything happened to me today; that's right -- everything.
No sooner did the stroke of midnight sound than I felt everything; everything was happening -- happening to me. Before that midnight's advent hit us, I was in a rather normal partial mode, I guess, but how things have changed!
For the last I'm not sure how many hours, I've been everywhere and have experienced oh-so much variety. Let me now try to name one part of that vast part, section, slice, and piece of a probably much bigger hugeness.
At exactly ten-aught-three or thereabouts my daughter came upstairs to see me. I immediately looked her in the eye. (She kept glancing at my left shoe.) I had been hard at work on a rather sweet story about a time I almost went deer hunting.
"Well," my daughter finally said. (Her name, incidentally, is Joy.)
"How are you, my dear child?" I asked her.
"Daddy, I'm fine," she said; "but you seem to have something on one of your shoes."
"How could I?" I answered: "These gunboats are too new not to look very much like 'true new.'"
"Oh, Daddy!" my dear daughter then somewhat gurgled at me.
I read to her the first paragraph of my still very smoldering rough draft and inquired of her what her opinion of it might be. She somewhat gurgled again. (Well, she's seven years old, and that may be a quite gurgling age, I daresay.) How radiant she looked as she looked up at me! And how proud I felt to be the father of such a perhaps pure and pristine critic of writings and of truth!
Hand in hand my daughter and I walked downstairs for some heartyish snack. The intervening hours have seemed crammed with and by much. How (I ask) do I ever recall one world and another?