I teeter along the edge of a crisis, I can feel it. I choose to walk quickly past it, ignoring it uncomfortably like the homeless man on 79th and Broadway. I work long hours and never let the apartment be silent; I pretend to be occupied by matters so important that I couldn't possibly deal with that one, right now. Perhaps I should do the opposite, take a deep breath, let my knees buckle, and slip right in. I usually find that crises are the best way for me to collect myself, to write a million lists and garner the energy needed to climb up and fly away.
And what is life without a little madness, anyway? What is a life of predictability and security? When there are pink sparkles out there, when there are mad rushes through the blood, giggles and adventures waiting around the corner! I realize that phytochemicals and spiritual purity may make us live forever, but what life is it?! How can I deny myself coffee and wine and cigarettes and untold secrets behind locked doors, when life is so much better with them around?
I woke up this morning with the sun shining straight in and birds singing through my open window; it felt like Spring. My heart wants desperately to burst today, to send glittering confetti across Times Square and to laugh wildly at the top of Central Park. If New York is my oyster, how could I possibly have the audacity not to go out in search of its Pearl? How could I possibly not do everything I can to deserve its sweet life? Well, I must. Well, I will.
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I say jump. Don't let it sneak up on you--wrestle it to the ground and conquer it. (I'm just talk, of course; I've been in one for a month and have been assiduously ignoring it.)
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