liking fashion magazines isn’t the same as liking fashion

It’s weird when you realize you’re actually doing okay.  Living your life, everyday, not visibly breaking down, or even invisibly breaking down more than once a week.  You’re not perfect.  And I don’t mean not perfect in that faux self-deprecating way of people who didn’t make the frosting from scratch.  You’re really not perfect. You’ve made some mistakes, and there was that one time.  But you’re moving past that now, and by moving I mean time is moving by without any help from you whatsoever.  There’s nothing you have to do to make your life go by, because that’s what it does.  Go by.  You’re still thinking about your ex more than is probably healthy, but mostly in a vaguely contemplative fashion, that could really be extrapolated to all of life – this particular ex just one example of the infinite strangeness of people you love moving in and out of the space in front of your face.  And you feel good basically, which is no small feat, but feels pretty small when you’re feeling good and realizing you need to get another hobby besides making yourself feel good.  It’s like finally landing a paying job, and immediately feeling guilty because you think you should start giving back.  To whom?  I have a few ideas, all are included in the Best Original Screenplay speech I practice on the treadmill.  For this (the treadmill, those people, this day) I am as grateful as Oprah in an AA meeting, which would be very grateful indeed.