(no subject)

I'm the last part of everything to get back to normal here but I think I finally really have. "This too shall pass" is the lamest consolation, especially for young people, but it's usually the only one that happens to be true. (Often true. In my case true.)

There's no party for things that get slowly good. In a sense you don't need one, the party is the things themselves. But I kind of feel like throwing one. I know I've made similar announcements at various points, all true in their way. This is the last one, both to not annoy and because the last thing needing to change did. It's not hope I feel now, or relief, but normalcy. I'm where I thought I'd never be again, even amid hopes, assumptions, certain kinds of knowledge that I would. The weather is what brought this home, I think, bringing back other Marches the way these changes do - something some of Proust's best pages are about. My last three Marches were severally appalling, were distinct flavors of horror. And this one is not. Simple, unignorable, true. This March is full of only March things. Rumors of leaves on walks, shy openings of windows. Academic apprehensions. Talk and meals.

Life shifting gearshifts, not just gears.

From: Someone had better be prepared for rage.

To: And to do that to birds was why she came.

(Passing too shall pass, one notes in passing. Pass it on.)