Sadderday

The strangest thing happened on Saturday: I got sad, and I mean really sad--a crazy, deep sad I haven't been since I quit smoking. I couldn't shake it. I did the things I do when I want to be happy. I ran the bridge; I ate a piece of chocolate, went to African dance, called my mom, made bird shadows on the wall, surrounded myself with twenty women I love and made them read poems to me, and nothing.Somewhere between disappointing news and a bee in my hair and a mosquito that bit me three times while I was waiting for the F-train to come, I just sort of crumbled. I spent the evening shrugging, staring out windows that weren't even there and offering monosyllabic phrases (I was quite fond of hmm and huh) to anyone who came close enough to ask. The lump in my throat wouldn't let anything else out.

But then I slept and went to yoga and held my arms up for eleven minutes and breathed, and I realize today that I sometimes take my happiness for granted. I'm generally so thrilled by the day-to-day of my life that I forget to be thankful for the two most important things: health and happiness. My God, they're essential. Because, really, without them, the days don't quite know how to fall.