Whoops. Was going to node bitter, and discharge some dread, but my straw might be the one that breaks the Bear's back, and perhaps toxic sludge is not what you want to wade through, defenceless one. I feel full of that, but will grope around for a blessing to count.

    I don't know how your eyes are working, but as I sit here sieving for blessings, I am aware that mine are working fine. That's a blessing old Polish babas would remind me to count. I have the everything classic theme, water settings--that light purple is a nice color. In the crayon box, it would be something like "periwinkle", which is a word that if I could only remember how lovely it sounds to me now would solve all my problems, forever. Why can't I bottle my blood at this moment and synthesize whatever chemicals are bringing on this feeling of relief? So different from how I set out to node. Did I do this?
    I am remembering (I can feel my body remembering) a lesson I once learned (thanks, universe) about beauty. Remembering is a physical sensation to me now, thanks to several days of dodgy sleep. Can it always be like this?
    • Beauty is built in. It seems frivolous, but it's essential. The beetle is in love with its ball of dung, would choose it over a ripe strawberry or a glass of champagne.
      • My mother rubbed her nose against me when I was a baby, preferring my scent to that of flowers. Breathing feels good to me, it's rewarding, it can be an ecstatic experience given drugs, or sleeplessness, or good smelling air, or the right frame of mind. It's all a set-up. It feels good by design; nature uses carrots more than sticks.
        • We have little choice in the matter. Sensuality is inevitable. That dog walking down the Oakland sidewalk last night chose the only unpaved spot for hundreds of yards around to stop, sniff and pee. Why that spot? Why does a dog choose? I think "instinct" is a miserly, dismissive word for "pleasure".