Betwen the night's sheets

I woke up this morning with my eyelashes glued to my cheek. There was a vague silhouette leaning down toward me. Fresh new white sheets pulled up around me, soft lips on my cheek, and I felt like a child tucked in with too much good food and bad television steaming up the windows in my head. I was newly born today. We were newly born. I want to run around in the streets like Wile Coyote from rock to rock, but it's nearly 100 degrees already and it's only 10 AM.

I'm going to bring glee to my shrink today. He'll smile at me and have nothing to say. What do you say to a person who's happy? What do you say to a person who was sad yesterday and is happy today? What do you say to a person who has nothing to complain about? What do you say to a person who thinks they've figured everything out on their own? Is it like talking to a religious zealot, someone who climbed a mountain, filled his lungs with the fresh air of epiphonous revelation, was nearly impaled on the horns of a giant ram but conquered the beast staring into its eyes with this newfound intensity or a thousand Christs? That's not me, but still... What do you say? What would I say to me? Other than, "Congratulations. I think our time is up."

But, not to worry, my fears usually take hold of my valor and shake it around in its teeth before long. I'll be back. My panic shall return. The nauseous anxiety will rise like a dark cloud and cover the sun. Or maybe not. Maybe I'll cancel any future appointments with my shrink, climb back to the top of a mountain and stay there. Maybe. You never know. "Congratulations. I think our time is up."