My life, the musical

I replaced the sliver of lavender soap in my bathroom with a new clear lemon chamomile bar Saturday morning, now all my fantasies have a sweet citrus flavor. My Friday off was a day of secret delights and revelations, some wonderful, some dreadful, some puzzling, but I breathed them all in like the scent of the soapy bubbles falling in cascades off my skin. I slip into the jeans I struggled to fasten last weekend, now freshly washed and easily buttoned while standing up. I am inordinately pleased with myself over such a simple act. I ignore the urge to seek solutions for other people as I drive through the damp and deserted streets of early morning on my way to work. The CD I picked is softer than my usual, the poetry of Towns Van Zandt, “To live is to fly, both low and high. So shake the dust off of your wings and the sleep out of your eyes”. I don’t know exactly when my feet left the ground, but I realize I have begun my flight. Looking down, terrified and exhilarated, I drop another bit of the ballast that has held me emotionally and physically to this unhealthy place. I turn my face upward, toward the horizon, strangely content with my trepidation.