After a solid night's sleep (rare), I lay in bed for a few moments this morning and realized that nothing was wrong. Stomach, heart and other complaints that have taken me to doctors lately simply were not expressing their need for attention. To have nothing happening was 1. odd and 2. somehow boring. But not so boring that I didn't lie there and marvel for a while.
Funny how anyone might pray fervently for one thing or another and yet, when they got it, be so habituated to their acts of petition and complaint that, well, there was a sense of loss. Without something to strive for or complain about, who would you be?
It's a little like Martin Luther King's approximate observation, "It's not what's wrong with the world that scares people. What really scares them is that everything is all right."
Less politely, it's also like the old critique, "He's so dumb he could fuck up a wet dream."
Old habits die hard, but even if you can't plunge a dagger
into their heart, still you can examine the anatomy of the situation and learn a little something.