Throwing Shoes

My RA, at one of several colleges I attended, had bad knees. She often joked that she was going to trade them in at the next Blue Light Special. Today, I'd like to trade in my biochemistry, all of it, for something sturdy. I'd become consistently cheerful, the sort of woman people turned to for recipes of whole-hearted optimism. Why can't I be her? Why is my shrink out of town when my anti-depressant needs to be raised? Mine is a finicky biochemisty. Like a horse, throws shoes on a regular basis.