vernal fall

I think I need a new narrative. This "My life feels mediocre" line is boring me and boring the people around me. For example, I found it hard to be scintillating with J. and A. last night, even though I am ordinarily scintillating. (If expressions of immodesty can't be forgiven in one's journal, point me to that sacred space where judgment is judged and the subject is free to speak her mind!) I met them at The Lookout at 10:30. I sipped a beer which ultimately I only drank half of, while J. took in a Coke in a tumbler and A. a whiskey or rum concoction on ice. It was loud by the bar and my attempt to shout questions to Jason about his life and law firm in London led to fits of coughing. We moved to the rear room, where unbrushed straight people celebrating the launch of a pop-up food vendor (beef stew and chocolate covered madeleines; I hope the KitchenAids will sell high enough on the secondhand market for them to repay at least half their debts when the operation bankrupts), and where we dislocated a stranger's purse-coat arrangement from its perch so that all of us would have stools to sit on while we looked each other in the face and talked about ourselves. As is customary I tried to redirect the gulfstream of curiosity back to the other side of the table, but once when asked how my life was going all I could think of to say was the dull narrative described above. And since so much of one's mood is determined by what one thinks one's mood should be, I think it's time for me to drop the glum act and say, "I'm HAPPY, life is GOOD, it's SPRING, my girlfriend and my dog and my family LOVE me and I have a JOB that pays me way more MONEY than any unskilled 31 year-old's job should pay!" Let us try this affirmation, along with daily smile-muscle calisthenics, and luxuriate in the serotonin elevation that will result.