It is a black cashmere cardigan with a roll neck and a clever and flattering sash. It is cozy warm and delightful. It is exactly what one wants to apply to one's person when one is feeling sorry for oneself for every reason in the known universe - and is eating Cheetos in front of the computer.
My sister Leta wore it when her aunt was dying of cancer. She wore it the entire time she was in labor with Liam. She handed it off to me when my dad was in the ICU on a ventilator, and I wore it every day while we were there. I gave it back to her this fall when things got especially rough around her house and she has been curled up in it for the past several months, hoping that some day her child would take a breath and stop talking. (See below).
I made the mistake this weekend of heading out the their place in a t-shirt and track pants. This was fine until the temperature dropped to forty.
So I am now in possession of the agony sweater.
The trouble is, for the first time in six months or so, I am short on agony.
I am sleeping at night. I am getting work done. I am seeing my friends deliberately. I am making it to the gym because I feel like it.
Is this what it is like to be happy?
Damn, it's nice.
(Oh by the way: did you like me better when I was always bitching? Just curious).