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December 11, 2002 gift horse I am gripped by contentment so strong and so unwarranted I cannot write.  I'm disabled by  well-being.  It's like having a flu-bug, but the visiting virus missed that day in Virus School when he should have learned to make hosts sick, not happy. Believe me, I've got no reason to feel this way.  I'm sober and divorced.  I've got problems at work and, if all goes according to plan, I soon shall have no pot in which to piss.  But I can't help myself.  The boat is in the river and I'm floating with the current, paddling just enough to steer between the banks and around the rocks, but not so hard as to miss the beautiful scenery. I look a Gift Horse in the mouth.  I spelunk its alimentary canal.  Still, I am plagued by equanimity. Perhaps this is balance.

©  2002 by the beastmaster