You place nine

blueberries

on your knockoff cornflakes.

On the fridge there hangs a list and it is the recipe to happiness.

It starts with blueberries and a balanced breakfast

yoga

some work

some play

you need a balance in your day

after all.

A jog.

Careful, mindful steps towards completion

early to sleep and early to rise.

This is healthy.  This is happy.

You are happy.

( But about what about that time we walked all night - )

Hush.  You are happy.

( - to get to school

down the mountain through the forest and along the lake where we drank sangria and ate strawberries

and our soles were bared because our shoes were badly chosen and we were too tired to guard our words against each other

stumbling into class at 8:17 two minutes after the bell went and no one knew what we'd been through and  - )

Go for a jog.

Gently, now.  Push yourself but not too hard.

A drink in the evening

with friends

it's Friday after all

but one beer and avoid cigarettes darling

they're a filthy habit.

( - passing a cigarette between fumbling fingers

because it was so cold but you loved him a little

so you stayed and watched

the sun rise over the - )

Read a bestselling book

it'll give you something to talk about at parties.

( - standing in front of a public bathroom mirror

for an hour and convincing yourself that you cannot

possibly

exist

because Descartes wasn't thorough enough and

the pragmatists are ridiculous - )

Go to bed early.  

Take a pill to kill the anxiety 

and to - 

( - sleepless nights and tears

the kind of laughter only exists when you’re a little bit tipsy and haven’t slept in thirty six hours and you’re both profoundly miserable and elated because look look look at that sunrise.

Look at the crazy people at the mad angry broken people).

- block the bad dreams.

(You had better enjoy those nine blueberries.)