It is colorful, but clouded in haze.
Yesterday I was telling Matt that what I really need is to go to one of those very posh mental institutions like McLean in Boston back in the days when Robert Lowell went there. I see myself sitting on a rolling green lawn, dressed in white, sitting on an Adirondack chair. I will not have to think about work, bills, obligations of any kind except that of figuring out how to control my rampaging psyche.
But real life intrudes and I can't imagine that such a thing is possible, at least not as the benign scene that I envision for myself.
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