i feel so oddly optimistic
oddly, i say, because it doesn’t come enough - or it hasn’t come very often this past month or two.
i feel like i can do anything.
i feel like everything will turn out just fine.
for once, even the relentless ache of my escapist tendencies - to disappear into books and movies and imaginary worlds and pointless video games - feels fine.
everything feels okay.
i can breathe.