Maybe it’s the unusually mild weather today or all The Beatles tunes that came up on my iPod this morning at the gym. Of course, it could also be the arrow that Cupid successfully lodged in my sternum. Heck, maybe it’s just the two brownies I found squirreled away at the back of the freezer. But whatever the reason I really am feeling pretty good about things these days. Optimistic… enthusiastic… hopeful.
Yes, it’s true that the only thing standing between me and calling a refrigerator box “home” is about $300 (and you know that my refrigerator box will be the absolute envy of the underpass…) but I also get to see my amazingly wonderful second family on Thursday (and next weekend I get to—gulp—meet the Fokkers), there’s a pot of fish chowder simmering away on the stove waiting to be e’t, a couple of books sizzling away on my Kindle waiting to be read and, later this afternoon, a really good nap waiting to be taken.
Pollyana-ish? Perhaps. But it all puts me in mind of this song from that great—yet forgotten—off-off-Broadway musical from the early 'nineties, White Cotton Sheets, written by… me (and performed here by the amazing Bobby Reed and Stephen Pell.)
And I really do wish that you could be a pixie, too.