Life is Good
I haven’t been sleeping enough. Not even close. I am running on the fumes of excitement, newness, closeness, and friendship.
Which means that I spend a lot, a lot, of time smiling. Blushing, giggling, doubled over with laughter. Riding my bike with the wind rushing past and my head in the clouds.
But not all the time. Energy like that is non-sustainable. Sometimes there is a come down. Back to reality, serotonin levels dropping after flying high all morning.
And even then I’m okay. I go for a walk, listen to music. Hug my mom in the hallway. Write in my journal, on my blog, write letters, write stories, on my laptop, on the typewriter–clackity clang clack–write it all down. My mood starts to lag, and I produce, create, relax, exist.
* * *
I got a postcard from Australia, or–as I described it to a friend–“from mother fucking Australia!”
I remember a few years back, following Deedee to her apartment to make juice, and she had international postcards in her mailbox. She had her own place, a bit of art, some shabby furniture, a big bed all to herself. It all seemed so grown-up to me, and so very, very personal. But now I have those things, too. And I am so very, very grateful.
Grateful for my friends that I fall in love with more and more each day. For my hilarious co-workers. For my bicycle, my strong legs, ballet torture class and running into oblivion. Grateful when I think I’ve lost something, then I find it. Grateful when I think the day will be too much, too long, but it is instead one moment after another, and I exist within each and find something new to think all the time.
Mostly, though, I think “thank you.”
Mostly I think, “at last.”