It was a strange experience, that feeling called happy. I realized I’d not felt this emotion in a very long time. No spontaneous laughter, although I’ve giggled at jokes now and then. My default is caution, guarded. It didn’t last long, this happy thing, but at least I know the thing exists.

I don’t think I’ve mentioned I’ve taken up watercolor painting. I started back in october, before coronavirus. I’ve not done any art in 40 years and I’d never done watercolor. It’s fun. I am amazed at my progress. I wish I’d taken it up years ago. I see these kids doing amazing art and I think, dayam, I could have been that good if I’d kept at it. But real life takes over and sometimes the fun stuff falls off to the side.

I saw my improvement. It made me happy. I even, briefly, thought of what I could do with another 20 years. If I improved that much in six months, how much could I improve in 20 years? I’ve been living day to day, week to week for so long, 20 years feels like a lifetime. And honestly, realistically, I don’t think I’ll go another three or four years, due to illness or murder. But for just a few minutes, I had a hope I would go another 20 years, be happy, make good art.

Of course it faded. But for a brief moment, I had a happy.