Happy, happy, joy, joy

I have felt so hesitant to post this past week, and it's for the exact opposite reason than you think: I've been happy. I know that probably sounds nuts, but I've felt so emotionally okay that it's almost been scary. Like, "what's waiting around the corner, because there's no way I could actually feel this good for too long without it all crashing down."

I guess it's because I don't have a freaking clue from whence it came. If I didn't know any better I'd think someone was slipping E--or prozac-- into my water bottle or something. It happened a couple of weeks after I wrote the emotional vomit post: I just woke up one day, and it was a good day. I was humming and singing at work, even doing a little dance step around my cubicle every now and then. I wanted to hang out with friends. I thought about trying to recreate a social life, and started looking for bands and things to do out and about in the city. I felt good, and it didn't go away the next day. Or the next. Or the one after that.

Don't get me wrong; I'm not on perma-grin or anything. I've had pissy moments, and impatient moments, and sad moments. But they've been fairly fleeting, and the happy has been far outweighing the sad. I have even-- get this-- not completely fallen apart at the thought of being childless. I don't know, maybe this is the upswing of some massive emotional seesaw that's going to bust my ass once Fat Albert jumps off the other end. Maybe it is, but I've decided to just roll with it, and enjoy feeling fairly happy as long as it lasts.