My fortune

Every morning for the last two weeks or so, we've awakened at 7:50, perhaps stirred by an outside noise but I'm not aware of what. I wake up and the facts of my reality flow back around me after dreaming, and then there is no way I can go back to sleep. The next few months are beckoning with such treasures in hold, and plans and schemes are constantly running through my busy head. All the while the rest of the world disappoints and horrifies me, and I don't understand the impossible disjunction, when the people and places that I know positively glimmer in their brilliance. Yesterday on my way to work, I cried again, nearly sobbed on the commuter train by myself and everyone pretended not to notice. I cried because I know that route so well; I know the mountains and the blossoms, and each house and its hanging laundry, and then there is only one more day I'll go that way. To love someplace so much, you cry at leaving but then to know where you're going next is even better, where you've got to be, burning with excitement to get there. And to love someone so much that no matter where you go together, something good there will lie. I am fully conscious of my fortune.