I haven’t been psychotic for a very long time; at least not hospital psychotic. My days can be filled with the voices only I hear, but I ignore them and don’t follow through with the things they tell me to do. They are random, these things, and never kind.

I have not been paranoid recently. I am able to get in my Fore-Runner, knowing it won’t blow up when I turn the ignition on. I am able to throw trash down the trash chute, trusting that I haven’t thrown my keys or cell phone down there also. Little paranoias. They’re not catching me like bees to honey.

I leave my house. This freedom is like throwing open my closet and choosing a pair of pants. Do I go straight for the blue pair, look right for the black pair, or left for the gray pair? Going backward without choosing is no longer an option. Backward has become the single sock in my drawer; I have no use for it. This freedom is like a slice of American cheese melted on wheat, very specific, very driven. Once I know where I am going or what I am doing, everything falls into place, even if I have yet to discover where I am going and what I am doing….then I eat the American cheese and leave the wheat for later.

Freedom is also not being afraid to drive forty five minutes to the hospital to visit Victor, who had open heart surgery yesterday. I will try and not be afraid to park and leave my car. I will find it when I return to it, like finding the ice has frozen in the tray in the refrigerator. All is where it’s suppose to be, to include my parked car which I will find with easy effort….I hope. Ha.

Sheila, Victor’s wife and my dear friend, tells me he is doing fantastic. He’s already sitting in a chair. I take it for granted that I can sit in a chair. Maybe it is more appropriate to feel blessed that I can easily sit in a chair, all kinds of chairs.

I’m looking forward to today. My mind is clear. My toes all bend.I have two hands and ten fingers. Magic. All is magical.