The Morning Pages March 6, 2023

 I thought I'd use this format today, since I have a lot of disparate thoughts to squeeze out of the tube, and I don't know where they are all going to land. I'm not sure if I want them to be read, or if they ever are, I'd like someone to feel as if they really shouldn't be reading them. Like a parent snooping around in their daughter's room discovering a secret diary marked "private." 

So, I've had Covid for the last week, and I can't say it's been the worst thing I've ever experienced. It has been multi-faceted, kind of like life, with some moments of extreme FUUUUCCCKKK, long stretches of them, it would seem at times, but also, some interesting moments with random interjections of something which I can only classify as joy. 

Back it up, whoa! What? 

Yes, I'm going to say that again. Joy. Some kind of feeling of internal well-being. Like the pilot light suddenly ignited, and the furnace came roaring to life. Like the feeling of a warm blanket, a cup of hot cocoa on a cold day, brought to you by an old friend with whom you are about to catch up after a lengthy absence. Like waking up and stretching, feeling actually--good. Not a transient feeling like an orgasm, with its regret tinged fading afterglow, but a substantial feeling, one with real estate, with trees and good fences, in a good neighborhood, and your kid just landed a scholarship at the college of their choice.

I had one of those kinds of feelings. 

It starts in the toes, and goes up to your nose...la la la la. Actually, it starts in the belly for me, but it winds up making me smile. An irrationally exuberant, Clinton playing the saxophone kind of smile. The emotion elicited in the Disney movie after the big orchestral swell, once you've shed those tears of hope against hope, the happy people are reunited with the lost pet, the lovers have gotten married and are swirling in a flurry of white rose petals, and everyone is singing "for he's a jolly good fellow." 

It's the kind of happy feeling druggies chase, except this one is gratis, a pro bono freebie, whereas the drug version exacts higher and higher premiums for ever diminishing returns. This is a newspaper subscription paid for by an anonymous donor that just keeps showing up at your door, a lifetime membership to the cheese of the month club.

So, why am I going on about this? Why the fuck not? I haven't had this kind of feeling for exactly--I have no idea, it has been so long.

*Note: Sadly, this feeling lasted only about a half an hour. I talked to my psychiatrist about it, and he said he has heard of several cases of Covid induced mania, but nothing, as yet, has made it into the scientific journals.