Right now, I’m sitting in front of a set of bay windows that frame one side of my room, my laptop perched on top of my enameled cedar desk in front of it. It’s warm and sunny outside; the palm trees do little to block the rays of sunlight that stream in through the windows. A Mercedes-Benz revs its way up the driveway past my view, and out of nowhere, a rabbit quickly darts across the pavement to make it to the other side of the grass without ending up as roadkill.
The strains of Loveholics’ “Butterfly” fill the room, while my dog — 11 years old, deliriously happy, and forever hungry, is curled up at my feet, quietly snoring her life away.
I’m in a good mood. Life has thrown me one softball after another for the past few days, and I’ve been drinking in the happy atmosphere. The future seems just a bit more bright than it was yesterday.
A large part of my cheerful aura stems from a very unexpected phone call I received, bringing me good news that I had given up on long ago. Although I don’t want to go into much detail, the lack of it had made me feel somewhat emasculated, adrift without a clear destination — or even a compass to guide me. While I still may not know where the path leads, at least I feel like I have a map now.
Of course, that means nothing if I lose the map. So now, the most important thing is to hold on to it for dear life. Let’s hope that my next diary entry isn’t called, “Fuck, I Lost the Map”!