The Story So Far

There are a few seconds every day when any work is too much work.

The summer so far has been an emotional bungee jump, and I'm waiting for the cord to tighten and August to wheel me back into the city. I am ready for everything new: new apartments and new jobs and new classes and bus routes and pencils on new pads of paper and new hair colors and shoes and birthday presents and new boys with nothing to lose but lung-space and youth. I have so much to lose, but I'm wagering it all on September.

I am so ready for that perfect summer-lighting-sunset on Washington Avenue. The one that only lasts those perfect first few weeks of fall until the Earth, tired from it's straight salute all summer, slouches into winter and the sunset crawls North into downtown.

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I was asked the weirdest (read:best) question in the longest time a few days ago:

"Are you happy, John?"
"With what?"
"Are you happy with... everything?"

It was in reference to a more specific 'everything', but for a few seconds I was completely stunned by the thought that anyone has felt happy with the greater everything. So often, I feel like I'm only happy when I have something tangible to be unhappy about. Those drab, lingering feelings of undirected happiness are frightening, and they suggest that there is more to be upset about than a missed call on the other end or a particularly bad hair day.

All I want is everything.