Ahhh. Breathe in, breathe out. Smell the June. See the things around you. Listen. Touch. The electrical storm in your brain is sputtering its last. Suddenly you can be aware. Before, it wasn't possible. Before, it was at level four.

The train is blowing its horn way down the hill as it cruises through the San Fernando corridor. The birds are tweeting (not Tweeting). I don't know everything about everyone I care about, but I can live with that right now.

There is still regret and nastiness and fear and sorrow, of course, but it isn't swelling like it was, and I can walk the dog.

Walk the dog.

Walk the tortoise. Okay.