Never underestimate the freedom of breathing.

I've had asthma off and on these past few weeks (actually, I've had asthma since I was 2 months old, if we were to get persnickity about it) and it hasn't been a piece of cake to deal with. It's the strangest thing to totally enjoy a night with Justin and my friends and then wake up with a chest that feels as if its been installed with the lungs of a four year old filled with broken glass and used-up sponges.

I've stayed away from drink, drugs, sugar, smoking, illicet sex, poppers (which would fall under both drugs and illicet sex), scented candles, air fresheners, long haired cats, and MOST (not all) TV news personalities, and still, I wake up without the ability to breathe.

There's nothing like seeing a 5'11'', 200-something pound guy hunched over the bathroom sink, trying to get his breath after something as simple as brushing his teeth. I don't know how Justin does it.

But, right now, and for this entire afternoon, I've felt my lungs snap back to their normal breathing ability many times. It doesn't make sense. I've climbed stairs, walked through the cleaning aisle at the supermarket, ate a few ginger snaps (how can you NOT, my friends, when the weather is like this? How can you not?), yet, while winded, I've snapped back to normal and not into an attack.

No looking gift horses in the mouth, I suppose. I'll breathe while I can and I'll focus on trying to breathe more in the future.

And lest you think this is some metaphor for life, well, it is. I feel as if I've been "breathing" more in life, with fewer and fewer attacks...just long, pure, measured breaths.

I wish the same for you.