The mortification still lingers, but I persevere with the blogular activities. With some help from the following:
How did I ever live in a country that doesn’t make pretty little designs in their cappucino? I suddenly realize how important these apparently minor things are.
It may be that happiness as our society conceives it – euphoria on a grand scale, of lifelong duration – is not achievable. Unless you’re one of those odd people who are born with one of those rubber-ball personalities that bounce back higher from every setback, and who write books about how the rest of us can be just like you. If you’re one of those people, I would like you to know that you annoy the crap out of the rest of us.
If happiness in solid, permanent form – monolithic, as it were – is not possible, where does that leave us? Is life but a vale of tears?
From what I’ve seen so far, I think maybe it is. But as you walk through this vale, sometimes the trees above you open up to the sky, and you find yourself surrounded by little fragments of happiness floating like dust motes in a sunbeam. They won’t stay long, but they’re not meant to. If they did, their magic would become mundane and you’d no longer see them.
If you turned a magnifying glass on one of those fragments, there might be a little coffee cup with a flower in it.