Some moments are so utterly, transcendentally adult as to be inaccessible after their passing. Some moments allow you to feel your place in your own narrative, can reach back and tap your fingers along the heads of selves past, smell the ionized air of deep time around you.
Moments like watching pornography after a four-month moratorium and finally seeing how utterly stupid and lifeless it is.
Asking my mother to pay for a weeklong seminar in Stanford about my chronic condition, having the honesty to know that I need help, that I'm not ready to flush the monsters from under the bed by myself yet.
Realizing that the retards don't have a Monopoly on the politics of human empathy, that a happier world is probably just as simple as people taking care of each other. Feeling suddenly overwhelmed in class by a desire to help someone, then sad and dizzy at the realization that that notion has an exotic flavor.
Going to bed thinking about the things that I have, not what's missing.