goodwill

The sound of sausage links and pomegranate cream cheese muffins are muffled in the oven. A cup of coffee at hand, the other curving the round dial of the stereo turn-up, slowly, one click clocked and wise, at a time. Outside the window it's a wet web blue kind of day. Layers of color and forest and atmosphere. In the kitchen: a scramble, tropical fruit sliced lengthwise, a wedge of goat cheese, a glass of prosecco and orange, melding warmth & bubble. At first I'll say I'm not sure how I got here. I wanted to blame it on something else, someone else. 

This one day at Goodwill I felt happy. And it wasn’t temporal, like the cocoon of retail therapy which ends when you step outside. It wasn’t a function of a switch. It was a realization, and also a worry, like how long can this last? Happy is a word I don’t like. Full in pressure. The pronunciation is sharp & warm, and there’s usually an intonation associated, where when you intonate, it’s possible to begin to feel, but I like other words better: “sound,” “comforted,” “crazy,” “alive.” But words are imperfect mostly, or they hang on a thread of momentary, and I use “happy” all the time.

November was crazy, leading up I'd been half-fired, re-hired, ran a marathon, got a job offer, accepted, ran cross, pee-tested, shot up, got (3) cat adoption offers. In the middle of it I was like, "Ohgod, can I handle this?" December’s begin brought new turns, in career (moved from C.A. to Imaging Ass.), in training (pube & an uptick in strength sessions), in running (departure from Brooks ID), holidays, travel plans, loss. I’m buzzing. Trying to stay awake long enough to see G.O.T. (Mads J in my bed plz), O.i.t.N.B., Wonder Years, True Detective and every 80’s romcom. It’s too much! I’m running in the black of 5:30 a.m. or p.m. and there's nothing in the fridge. And then, I was looking at Goodwill, and I realized I was really good.