I feel peculiar. I feel good, but it’s peculiar for me to feel good. I’m not used to it. I’m not very skilled at handling it. It’s rather like meeting a fawn in the woods. It’s beautiful, and you want to keep looking, but you know that at any moment it could run off, and you’ll never see it again. Like holding a soap bubble in your hand. Afraid to move because it might make this wonderful thing go away.
I don’t know if when I wake up tomorrow I’m going to keep on feeling good, or if I will revert to my baseline state of distracted frustration. I suppose we shall see.
