Superfluous Benignity

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When I got up this morning I had a mad urge to clean the house. This is rare. Normally when it hits me it is a blessing (you should see my little nightmare shanty right now).

But today is a workday and my taxi would arrive whenever the driver finished his paper route (yeah, I have regular driver who knows when to pick me up). I got some trash out of the house before he arrived. Had it been a day off I’d have been at it for hours. And not minded the chore.

Several hours later at my used bookshop I was surprised by how fine I felt. A joyous surprise. Before the wearying, wearing years with Charles I often felt like a singularly lucky man. Really it wasn’t a rational way of assaying my life: except that anyone who feels that way is truly lucky.

For the whole day I often felt that superabundant pleasure in life, which was the defining quality of Nietzsche’s superman.

It is still surging through me. But I have one eye cocked on the morrow when I’ll be merely mortal again.

Joy is addictive and withdrawal hurts.

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