You made breakfast at home on a Saturday. You can’t recall the last time you’ve done that.

Short-lived success. Now you feel the cloudy swaths of dissociation floating around you.

But, somehow, the floatiness passes. It actually passes without you having to leave the house. This has never happened in the past. You’ve always had to leave for it pass.

And so you heated up soup for lunch, watched tv, and took a peaceful nap.

You woke up, and drafted a poem. Then you made french toast for dinner. The enormity of what has happened has not escaped you. You cooked three meals in your apartment in one day, three meals! You feel like you should be doing a victory lap of sorts.

You realize that it’s the small victories that are actually the large victories in this journey.