The river

It is not in my nature to consider myself lucky. My professional dreams have come to little. My 2,200 plus and counting daily missives of extraordinary understanding and wit that you see here have decidedly not captured the world's imagination. My health always seems a little ragged and I currently have a wheezing cough. I scooted one of the rolly chairs at work today under the table and pinned a bit of my palm between the unfortunately raised armrests and the counter edge, pinching it painfully. There is a red mark there still that hurts to touch.

I keep count.

When I am out at the front desk of the library with another person 62% of the unpleasant patrons end up with me. Compared to how, on talent and skill, my favorite sports teams should fare, they do 18% worse. I've never won any notable prize in any contest. My clothes wear out faster than other peoples. Electronics are 3% more likely to be defective sent to me than they are on average when sent to everyone else in the world. The movies I like are too unpopular for the studios to make anymore. If I am hoping that something will come in the mail it won't, at least, not that day. If I want it to snow it doesn't. While Tuesdays and Thursdays are equally long for everyone else, for me the Tuesdays are actually considerably longer than the Thursdays.

I don't work on Thursdays.

I have never been appointed to the board of anything. No one has asked me to do an important and well regarded job. I can't run fast.

And I never forget any of this.

But on this day of the year I feel it is fair to add up all the pluses and minuses. And while I'd hate to tempt fate by saying too much, it is clearly apparent that somehow this great deficit in fortune has been paid in full, though it hardly seems it could be possible, making it all the more astounding. And the pure cool spring of my good luck so overflows as to run like river through my life, making everything that would be just a little bit dead, come wonderfully to life.