I had a few days of bliss and then suddenly the feeling was gone, left tumbleweeds of inspiration in its wake but they blew away, too. Man, anything was possible and everything was free. Time was infinite and the universe was abundant. But my world collapsed, folded in on itself, and I was left standing over rubble wondering what the fuck just happened and how I could possibly get it back. I can’t, though, but that kind of makes sense. The precise biopsychosocial cocktail that activated that bliss will never happen again. In a sense, that makes the bliss that I long for sort of outdated and ill-fitting for the present moment. Nothing to be upset over, then; a new wave will come, for sure. It always does. In fact I think I hear it knocking right now. Hold on a minute, I’ll be right back.