bed, and stand up, and get all wobbly and sit down again? The week felt like
that, felt like a derelict ship suspended on a dead star’s event horizon, every
emotion an asymptote.
Still, my genes
seem to have been blessed with self-regenerating perkiness. Last night, I almost
threw a tantrum (yes, me, Valium girl) because I misplaced my tablet pen for the
nth time, and I had work to do, and of course that fed into my you’re-no-good
litany.
This morning, I am one big
shrug. Okay, I’ll just go and get myself a new one at Megamall when it opens.
And then more cheerful thoughts creep in. I’m in Megamall anyway, so I’ll pass
by Our Tribe and see if they have new turquoise leather sandals. That sort of
thing. And then I find myself smiling at how silly these things are, really.
Roll it all up into a ball and throw it into the arms of the universe, with a
kiss. I have food. I am loved. I can think. I can
write.
Everything else is doable. As
someone once wrote me, “The only way out is through.”