The following paragraph is mostly fictional and written for purely therapeutic reasons:

I'm in a great mood today. I still can't believe my good luck, finding the perfect house without even looking for it. I can make noise when I want, and I can have it quiet when I want. I have room to spread out and be comfortable. It's been at least fifteen years since I've been this satisfied with my whole living situation. Almost everything I've wanted, both material and otherwise, has fallen into my lap. In fact, I'd say my life is exactly what I'd wish for myself, because I deserve to be happy. I'm a good person who loves animals and children.

There, that was great. And most of it turned out to be true, once I started writing. I should try that more often.

Now. If I could only find the damn key to the damn filing cabinet.

Why can't I embrace my good fortune? Why do I obsess over the one little thing that goes wrong, instead of relishing the many things that are right?

I'd planned this day well, I thought. The last day of a long weekend, I could get some work done, finish unpacking (or at least come close), watch a little baseball (and maybe some football), catch up on reading online journals, and rest up for the week ahead. That was the plan, until I tried to open the filing cabinet.

Apparently when the guys the Boss sent were moving it, they pushed the spring lock to keep the drawer from sliding open. That would have been okay if I'd had a key. I spent most of the day, time I was planning to spend on other pursuits, looking through every box I have for a key that would open the cabinet. And then looking again, in the same boxes. And then one more time.

Nothing I needed today was in that cabinet. I can probably get by for a day or two without getting inside it, unless the Boss calls tomorrow and demands one of the files locked securely away in it. I can keep busy for days just on the work already spread out on my desk. Sooner or later, though, the time will come and I'll have to get at the contents of the cabinet.

As I told Mom, you'd think that if I kicked it just right, it would spring open. As she pointed out to me, there are several pages of locksmiths in the phone book, just waiting for my call.

So, as usual, I've let the most petty detail of my life spoil my mood. What's unusual is that as the day has gone on, I've been able to talk myself back up out of the blue funk I put myself in. I think it's the influence of the Fortress. There's some magical quality in this place that makes me a better person, or at least one who's better at making himself happy.

I look out my front door and see my garden, and the one mighty oak that stands sturdily just beyond. In the distance is a grove of trees, their branches swaying and their leaves rustling in the wind. I look out the back door and see open fields, with more trees off in the distance. If I'm able to find some peace despite the tumult and turmoil I invite upon myself, this is the reason.