The Universe is giving me everything I want. That is, everything it's got power to give me. It's been the people I randomly come across, the books I find, the songs I hear and the way the snow sparkled this morning like I was looking on it with the innocent eyes of a child.
Appropriately, I flipped to this tonight. And it all just clicked. This one is Kerouac. This one is for Paul (of course it's for you, Q):
How to Meditate.
fall, hands a-clasped, into instantaneous
ecstasy like a shot of heroin or morphine,
the gland inside of my brain discharging
the good glad fluid (Holy Fluid) as
I hap-down and hold all of my body parts
down to a deadstop trance -- Healing
all my sicknesses - erasing all - not
even the shred of a "I-hope-you" or a
Looney Balloon left in it, but the mind
blank, serene, thoughtless. When a thought
comes a-springing from afar with its held-
forth figure of image, you spoof it out,
you spuff it out, you fake it and
it fades, and thought never comes -- and
with joy you realize for the first time
"Thinking's just like not thinking --
So I don't have to think
And, as usual, I'm getting everything I want but not a tad bit of what I need. I'm dwelling on the past because my hopes for a future feel as if they're dwindling with every struggled breath. I miss the people I've loved and lost touch with. The men I told I'd marry. The women I've given orgasms to. The jobs I've enjoyed. The moment I had the seemingly perfect life of a house, a husband, a bundle of kittens and a fucking hot tub. I miss a time when food actually tasted good and my voice was strong enough to sing. It's all been dwindled down to nothing. Abandoned for fear that I might die and break the hearts of lovers (I would marry you in a heartbeat if I knew I could give you the life you deserve), come so hard I cry, miss too much work and get fired, over indulge in the warm waters until my hands become unrecognizable.
On the other hand everything has a certain intensity to it now. I'm falling in love with multiple people at once and the friends who I have been lucky enough to stick by my side through a tireless six weeks of hospital visits are the most incredible friends a mutant could ever have.
So, let the days pass, let these tired lungs live. Let the snow shine and the sun sparkle. Let the narcotics overcome the pain and most importantly, let this pass.