I am not sure how to describe what it is that I want:
There were a few days this semester when, even on the commute, I felt happy.
How would I describe those days? And why this poverty of words?
I hope my children do not experience this poverty–or the feeling of it–whether the lack is real or not. But more than that, I wish them more than a few days a semester wherein they feel happy. And if they can’t have that, I wonder why I’ve done this at all.
But on a few days, that hollow inside me, carved out empty like the soles of a junkie’s shoes, was filled with what I think is known, by the few who possesses it, as joy.
The only thing I know like that is getting high. I know where to acquire what one needs to get high,
but where does one acquire joy? And what are the paraphernalia of its implementation?
I came here because I wanted something, but I can’t remember what that is.