a drink to your health

Today I cried before ten in the morning. It wasn't much, but my eyes are still damp. It was good.

"I think the new drugs are working," I said, and she said, "Ahh, isn't that awful?" And I knew exactly what she meant.

I am happy for the first time in so long—happy because of coffee, books, friends, good weather, casual adventures, a cat and thoughts about the future. And at the back of my mind there's a worry that none of this happiness is real. A worry that I have myself fooled.

"All right," I said, "I have to go to bed. I've got to be up in the morning." And he said, "Working on your project?" And I said, "No, therapy appointment." And he looked down at me and said, "Ah, right! I forget about that."

It's a Tuesday, and Tuesday are full of classes I hate, but people I don't. The sky is grey and I'm glad to be alive.

monday 12am

I kissed him for the first time in the entryway to the apartment, and when he left he turned around and leaned against the doorframe and grinned. Then he turned around again and ran down the four stairs to the landing and then leapt down the last six, and for a moment time froze: him, in the air, arms spread and jacket billowing back like wings, suspended over the red brick steps.

It's March. I'm alive against the odds, my cat holds my hand when I sleep, and I can get any flavor  milkshake for $3. The idea that I could make anyone feel like flying is amazing.