Normal?

I want to write that I’m starting to feel normal again – but I’m stumped about what that means. I suppose it means I feel better than I did four days ago. That I’ve written out most of my angst and feel centered again. That I’ve given up fretting about the fact I’m going to be home very little between now and mid-December. That I’m halfway between writing and running, that I’m itching for a pint, that I’m well fed and glad, that I’ve got a book waiting for me to read when the clock strikes four and I get on the bus bound east to my retreat.

And I do, feel good, about the friend coming to visit tomorrow, and the fact I’m going to Victoria to meet him. That my stomach is settled and my jeans fit just right. And that if I have to make one more trip this year, at least it’s to St Johns, Newfoundland and not Toronto or Winnipeg. And the mystery cheque – let’s not forget that – unexpected money awaiting me at cheque distribution this afternoon. One quarter the worth of my new laptop purchased earlier this week. Oh!

A weighted cloak removed I can listen to french pop music and feel the secret smile grow in me again. What things I know and love. Who cares about the rest?