So, I had started a post yesterday about how I was still in the funk of all funks and about how people should just lay off already, because for some of us this day might just be another day of pressure, because we are already well-aware we are falling decidedly short of the mark when it comes to our collective understanding of happiness, what it means, and how we should be achieving it. I mean seriously – no boyfriend or husband, no family, friends who seem annoyed by me more often than not, a sucky, unfulfilling career and another irritating part-time gig, and a half-baked novel that may never be finished – I’m not exactly rolling in the good times right now, and I think the exhaustion has finally caught up with me, dragging me down into the dumps.
And, then I realized that might be the wordiest, snarkiest, rambliest, and most narcissisty thought ever on the subject, followed by the obvious realization that I was currently just throwing grammar and all hell right out the window on this one, and it suddenly made me blissfully happy. And, I’m still somewhere in the range of “happy” today. I guess I just needed a reminder that I take myself and my life way too fucking seriously. And all that stress and pressure when none of it matters at all – not in the grand scheme of my long-term goals certainly. So, I’m getting back to my novel. I went right back to the beginning and I started going through it, and thoroughly enjoying the re-read too, I might add. Well, it might be a very untraditional version of happiness, but it sure feels like happiness to me, so I’ll take it.
Here’s to us all living our own happiness this week! I will definitely drink to that!