It is almost midnight. Monday is about to segue into Tuesday, and I have had just enough red wine to the point where the warm itchy glow is radiating through me, a hug of inflammation, a Cabernet cardigan.
Today was a banner day. If every day were like today, I may very well have transcended this mortal coil and graduated to nirvana. The peace and happiness I’m feeling right now can’t even be completely attributed to the wine, although that certainly helps.
A quick catch-up, since I’ve been so neglectful as of late. We’ve been in the new house for two and a half months now. It’s everything we’ve wanted and more. Summer is officially here (at least weather-wise), these next couple weeks are a happy blend of work and play, and exciting things are on the horizon.
Today I practiced and cleaned and rehearsed some chamber music for the Atlanta Music Project HQ ribbon-cutting and worked out and MIKE AND I BOOKED A DREAM VACATION TO NEW ZEALAND AND TAHITI and drank wine and read Brahms and Schumann and Mozart quartets with a few ASO musicians and I am just on cloud nine because this is pretty much all I want to do in life, plus or minus this wine because I’m starting to get really seriously itchy, and could it be possible that I’m allergic to red wine?! Perish the thought.
Pardon the mania. It’s just that the next time I get into a funk—which could be next week or tomorrow or in a few minutes, for that matter—I want to refer back to this post and remember how ecstatic I once was, how a few talented colleagues, an endlessly supportive boyfriend, and some tiny black dots scribbled by dead German dudes could elicit such unbridled joy in me. This, Marie Kondo, this right here—this is what sparks joy. I never want to let this feeling go.