Most years I'm fine. Today I was selfishly isolationist and inexplicably immobile, even during the run.Around sundown, though, I didn't feel as fragil anymore. It happened somewhere between the second sentence of Emilio's essay on Arenas' autobiografía and the second straight episode of Grey's Anatomy. A phone call from a friend, a shiny clean red car, a glass of red wine, someone else getting sucked in to my telenovela and chocolate cake with pink frosting also combined to lift the mood. I wish that easy, non-medical prescription would work for everyone...and I hope that everyone has something similar for those times when she/he está pachucha/o.
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