The Saturday-afternoon schedule was pretty simple, once the grocery shopping was out of the way: take in a play, then pick up something for dinner on the way home. The play was downtown, the restaurant on the west side, so there would be a fair amount of driving involved, and somewhere in the midst of it I detected faint traces of something with which I am not especially familiar: a sort of euphoria. I'm not quite sure I know where it came from, either, though I have some ideas.

For some reason, I parked in the same lot I use for visits to the Museum of Art: a coin-box facility on the northwest corner of Walker and Robert S. Kerr. (Two bucks on weekends.) This is only one block, and a short one at that, from the Museum, but the Music Hall is a bit farther down Couch Drive, and there are stairs to negotiate once there. (And since the play was in CitySpace, a 100-seat black-box theatre in the Music Hall's basement, there were more stairs.) Complaint from my questionable knees: none.

Also not at all painful: watching the actress in this one-woman show, who was much prettier than her photos. (I don't fault the photographer, whose reputation is sterling; some things don't translate well to halftone, and, well, my criteria don't necessarily correspond with the photographer's, either.) I was fairly well smitten halfway through Scene II, and it's probably a good thing I was seated near her mother, an incentive to behave with greater restraint than usual. Besides, in an era where the ostensible tastemakers seem to have taken Logan's Run to heart, forty-three and fabulous qualifies as a moral victory.

And once it was over, I had to walk back that same distance again. Still no complaint from the knees — the very same knees, I might add, which had given indications of imminent failure at work on Friday.

But the feeling didn't really hit until I'd come up Classen Drive, wandered around Mesta Park for a few minutes (mostly because I forgot to turn off at 13th and Shartel), and started westward in pursuit of dinner. This day, I decided, had been unusually free of suckage.

Of course, a thought like that never gets elicited without the immediate arrival of second thoughts, so I pondered the matter further, and came to the conclusion that apart from the usual irritations at the office, which are pretty much unavoidable, my life seems to be getting to the point where it's unusually free of suckage. I'm not where I'd like to be financially, and there's still some uneasiness about my physical self, but I think I've come to grips with life as I k