Good

There is something up with me lately, I'm super happy. Monday morning I leapt out of bed and I was suddenly ecstatic for no particular reason. It doesn't make sense. There is nothing new in my life that isn't also fraught with incredible stress and the realistic possibility of heart-sickening failure. No matter, I still want to dance a jig several times a day. Literally. I actually get up from my office chair and dance around, I car dance when I'm driving, I have to suppress the urge to jump up and down repeatedly while having a conversation.

It's getting progressively worse. What started as a tiny little sliver of elation grows exponentially. Such an alarming state of bliss. I smile all the time. I don't get tired or hungry or hungover. I run faster. This morning, as I was gazing stupidly at the sky, it crossed my mind that maybe my increasing happiness was the result of some kind of brain tumor. Like, maybe there is a growth that is causing my synapses to misfire and go all haywire. A short circuit of sorts. But then I thought "Mmmmm...that breeze feels nice". So, whatever with that noise.

This is not normal for me.

A few minutes ago, I was driving to my crappy job and I caught a glimpse of myself grinning like a retarded golden retriever. I was almost embarrassed. I'm scared to get any happier. What if I get to like it and then it dissipates? How miserable will I be then? Fahk.

Well, I've been miserable before and now I'm not. So it isn't permanent. And this won't be permanent either. Someday soon I'll undoubtably be disappointed or get my heart broken and then I won't dance in my car on the way to work.

Look, I would like to think of a way to wrap this up that isn't too simplistic or cloying but there is really no way to conclude a blog about feelings that isn't sickening. I'm serious, I don't think it can be done. Fuck it.


-Pollyanna