First sushi in months and the telltale blend of ginger and rice-vinegar aftertaste, mozart pouring into headphones still crisp with newness, this morning's frenzy of Ministry and all-out race to finish things before they explode into working through a lunch hour nearly a bygone memory cut off from the present terse tenseness by the shock of perfect wasabi cutting light-sabre style through my gritted teeth.
(and here we beging to feel the manic breath and lack of punctuation)
And in the back of my head, so many cycles, the usual doubts and then one or two newcomers, dropping by before deciding to camp out for the winter.
Am I still the sociopath I cried myself to sleep defending not so many months ago?
Is this healing I've been believing in so tenderly, so carefully, more religiously than Arnaud and his catholic values, and the Mtl poly crew their self-proclaimed open-mindedness, is it just this season's religion?
Is it just another excuse for the tired evening when I have willed the telephone into not ringing?
Are my chemicals maladjusted, are my dreams schizoid fantasies of self-importance, am I doomed to snap one day and tell Callahan to go screw his happy bunch of drunken hippies and spend the rest of my bloodshot years torturing the most beautiful hearts like my father still wakes each day to do?
Non, je n'y pense pas non plus, but I have to ask.
I have to ask if all my truths are still my truths from yesterday, I have to ask if the sand that shifts beneath my fashionable shoes is sand I shift with the strength and purpose of who I tell myself I am.
I have to ask each morning because Dr. Evil isn't a joke some mornings, because I remember the mercury that replaced the blood in my skin when my grip on my own dreams grew far too thin and it was all about survival, not living.
Talk this week, AMB's wonder at my objectiveness, Mr. Pyke's disconcerting perspective that such objectiveness is part of the disease, not the silver lining.
Oh, he said no such thing, but a moment of sour clarity put the doubt in me and now the doubt is in the clarity, this being a great advancement.
And in the midst of Tctrust diagrams my cogitating spirit talks to Arn� of dreams and talks to myself of just how much I should let myself believe in them.
I know it is a fine line I walk some days, my hands refusing to reach quite so confidently for the papers strewn about my desk, jumping each at me with their angry edges.
Some days the nip in the air is a threat and not a breathy freshness.
But I am feeling the sushi hit, and right now I know..
I am remarkable and my pale yellow coffee bowls are reflections of a slow raffinity, not a slow death.
This naivety is not a mistake, it is a step further than I have ever been before.
This belief in hearts and fey is a strength that takes me further than my father's righteousness ever did.
I need to believe that today.
Yesterday I knew my greatness, this afternoon I am simply believing it exists. Tonight I will no doubt remember it again.