I woke up today and opened the windows to my new life for the next few months. There was a cool breeze bringing incense and bird calls in, and a surprising silence apart from the water in the fountain outside my room. And into that silence I said ‘Fuck. Yeah.’ And I had this tremendous full-body tidal wave of a particular feeling that I think is called Getting Away With It. It’s not a snaked-the-last-good-car-space-at-Warringah-Mall-at-Christmas kind of getting away with it; not that kind of pedestrian fist pump we all know and love. This was big. This was grand. This was I’m-a Russian-cyber-criminal-and-that-transaction-in-Bern-just-went-into-my-account level of getting away with it.
So I tried to make sure I wallowed in it, rubbed it all around, saved it for the inevitable morning I’ll wake up with that feeling I think is called Totally Shafted. Because when things are going this well, it’s good to know it. To really know it. And then order pancakes for breakfast.