Although I insist 41 and 42 shouldn’t count because of the quarantine, alas, here it is. Of course 42 is the answer to all of life’s questions according to Douglas Adams, so does that mean I finally know everything?
I’m starting 42 feeling happy, hopeful and thankful. It sounds so fucking sappy but there it is.
I am feeling happy because I’m living in the closest thing I can ever think of as a dream apartment. It’s pretty big, bright and in a historical building in Downtown Los Angeles. Also perhaps it’s thanks to some chemical aid thanks to escitalopram (20 mg every day,) but life isn’t a complete crushing unbearable act.
I’m hopeful because I’m halfway vaccinated, halfway to being able to start getting life to be a little more normal, to start seeing the people I’ve missed in my life over the last year and to start having penises go inside me. Yes, the penises. Mmmm. Penis.
And I’m thankful because I have a decent job that pays me well so that I don’t have to worry about being poor, that I’m healthy enough and that people tend to leave me the hell alone.
It’s just so weird to say that for the first time in my life things are pretty nice. How weird.