Qualifiers

"Hello?" I say. It is Homes. I haven't spoken to him in several years.

"Curt! How are things?"

"Things are great!" I say.

"How are the dogs?"

"Warden is great," I say, and quickly the conversation devolves into a flurry of 'buts':

Warden is great, but Stella is dead.
Work is great, but there's never quite enough money, and I think the Ghost hates me.
My apartment is great, but the shower pressure stinks. And the water goes freezing cold without warning. And boy, I wish I had a yard.
My family is great, but my Dad still makes me feel like a disappointment. And I wish I saw them more.
My neighborhood is great, but there was that time I caught some teenagers having sex on my car. And the time somebody stole my recycling bin.

I start asking myself, am I miserable, but so out of touch with myself that I don't even know it? "Am I happy, Homes?" I ask Homes. "I feel happy. Am I happy?"

"Is the pain still there if you don't feel it anymore?" Homes asks me.

Homes always knows what to say.