So I jump. Bad knee and all. The splash is ridiculous. The joy is real, if only for the time it takes a drop to fall from my hair to the floor.

Look — there is the crack in the mug I glued back twice. There is the sock that lost its partner in the dark. There is me, waving at a reflection that waves back a half-second too slow.

Let the paint dry on someone else’s chair. Mine is still wet. Good. If you actually need a legitimate copy of the original Ode to Happiness , I recommend checking sources like , your local library, or purchasing it from a bookseller. Let me know which you meant.