On Pleasure

My friend bought three pairs of sandals
at Nordstrom Rack, though she'd gone in
for a different item. All of them are cute—
olive and white and orange—and perfect
for the season. My other friend just bought
a house (or closed on a house) in a quiet 
neighborhood not far from a cemetery
where my husband used to take our youngest
daughter to practice driving (no fear of killing
anyone there). I bought a dress to wear 
to our nephew's wedding in the midwest—
something I haven't done in a while. It's cute
too: thin stripes on a cream background, 
but in a midi length that comes to maxi 
on my petite frame, which means I'll cut
and hem it myself; but even so, I'm
kind of excited. When I tried it on, it fit
so well; I could almost hear my mother,
who used to sew all my clothes, exclaim:
Kasla inar-aramid! By which she'd meant, 
as if bespoke. Reaching for the thing 
that made us giddy or excited, I marvel at
how none of us seemed to be consciously 
thinking of the terrible stuff in the news 
this week, even if we were—for don't we get 
reminded every nanosecond anyway? 
A nanosecond is equal to 1000 picoseconds 
or 1⁄1000 of a microsecond, also likely the speed 
at which dopamine releases into the bloodstream, 
which aids the fight or flight response but mostly 
works as part of our reward-as-pleasure system. 
The shoes are dope, the suit is dope. We do what
we need to survive but can't deny the dopamine rush— 
how good it feels to do  something pleasurable.
Already, the brain looks forward to the next hit.