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Tonight has been one of the best nights of my life. I got home from work where I’d made two great arrests on a couple of big cases. Yolie was still at work so I cleaned the house and made dinner for us, put on some Hem and lit some candles. We ate taquitos and a salad with figs from our fig tree and drank Ketel One martini’s and talked about our days, our friends, our sweet, sweet lives…Yolie told me that she felt today like she’d done such a good job of living that she could die happy right now. That no matter what finally claimed her she could hold her head up and know that she hadn’t just dipped her toe into the water, she’d dived head-first and gleefully in to the deep, deep water. I told her how happy that made me, how I felt the same way, and that I would always remember that moment…if she died I could live with it because I knew that she was happy with her life, that she was satisfied with how she’d gone at it full bore the whole time. I was crying into my martini I was so happy and so raw and open and in love with her. With my life, too.

After dinner we cleaned up the kitchen and then laid down on our bed. It’s covered with this beautiful, jewel-toned japanese fabric quilt Yolie made for us, a real work of art…anyway, we just snuggled and talked and goofed around and then made wild passionate love for about a week and a half and then I went out to the backyard and sat in my Dadairondack chair and had another inch of frozen vodka in a thick-bottomed glass and smoked a small cuban cigarillo and pet my wild dog and watched the moon and the stars and felt the acrid smoke in my lungs and wept and wept for my small happiness. Yolie came out and we talked some more. I felt the last piece of my latest big painting fall into place with a earthy thud of perfection, and a parade of all the people I love so dearly floated in front of my eyes…

Why me, lord? Why am I so blessed?

Oh, I am undone.