I think I’m dying.
Do you ever have those days?

Stepping into the crosswalk.
Listening to Rufus Wainwright.
Finding a mysterious dark spot on the back of my hand.
Feeling anxious.
Feeling happy.
Drinking too much wine.
Not drinking enough.
Thinking about sour milk.

Any of these things alone could kill me.
Or they could team up and blindside me combo style.

For example,

This walk I’m on right now from work to happy hour,
stepping in crosswalks,
listening to Rufus Wainwright on my iPod,
looking at the dark spot on the back of my hand,
feeling anxious and happy,
planning on drinking a little but not too much,
thinking about the sour milk I drank this morning.

I’m surprised I didn’t die already today.
That’s really pleasant, come to think of it –

not dying.

Even after all those crazy experiences I had today.

Actually, maybe those things –
death-defying as they are –
aren’t so strange after all,
and this was just another crazy day in the city,
just like always.

This wine tastes good.
These potatoes, too.
It seems I’m happy and anxious and scared of dying
all at once.
It seems one can feel all those things and not explode,
although one might might feel like it.

Time to go.
Job number two.
Drain that wine.
Eat those potatoes.

If all you have is a few moments,
might as well eat and drink them!

The wine helps the anxiety, anyway.
I’m a little funnier –
mostly just more honest.
I say what’s on my mind.
My voice is a little higher, more feminine.
I’m more caring, less calculated.
I still catch details, they just don’t overwhelm me.

Now, I believe there is such thing as too much wine.
But right now I’m feeling good –
not too good, mostly fine.
And it’s from just one glass of wine.

I wouldn’t like to feel this way all the time.
But I think a glass now and then
to soothe my senses, help me remember myself, well,
that can’t be so bad.

And if it is, well, I’ll be bad.
I don’t know who decides those things anyway.

And look at that.
It’s been ten minutes and I haven’t once felt like I’m dying.