Good Mood, Good Grief

Why, pray tell, am I happy? It’s so odd. I’ve been so used to either being a) sad, b) stressed, c) hopelessly sad, d) anxious, e) not anxious, but only because I’m high on ^benzos, f) in denial, (but I’m not) g) over-worked and feeling under-appreciated and under-paid, h) consumed and wearied with family drama, or i) all of the above at freaking ONCE.

But now, I’m simply, j) happy.

I’m not even sure what to do with myself. Good grief. This is weird. Am I suddenly on a different planet that is not the horribly awful earth that’s going straight to hell with all the global warming and raping and pillaging and war and mediocrity and grimy taxi drivers and bad movies and D-list celebrities? I mean, c’mon. We produced Perez Hilton.

I mean, the fates and the stars and the planetary orbits and astronomical bearings or whatever must be aligning just for me.

Cade woke up this morning, and didn’t yell “NO NO MAMA!” and roll back over and try to go back to sleep.
He smiled at me, and laughed.
We listened to the “woof woof!” song and then went through all the animals and their sounds. He likes the duck best (like his mama.)

My sister told me not once, but TWICE that I looked cute. I’m wearing a shirt today I rarely wear because I feel like it makes me look giantly boobalicious, and while this is normally a general rule that me likey the breastees, when a shirt makes you look fat and booby, it be no good. But my sissy denies this is the case. Also, I’ve recently learned that there is an unfortunate phenomenon known as the uni-boob. I worry about this.

I got some good news at work.

I discovered goodreads, which is, like, my mother ship. Why have I not signed up for the gloriousness that is this website earlier?

Today’s Friday, and I survived my hellish week of working full-time. Holy moly oh my guacamole how do you full-timers do it? This has been impossible. Yes, IMPOSSIBLYBRUTALDEPLORABLESUCKTASTIC.

So, cheers. Here’s to hoping and wondering if I’ll wake up from this dream and plummet back to the reality of kindasortanotreallybeingindenialtryingtorecoverfromaneatingdisorderandjugglingworkingandbeingamamaandagoodwifeandagooddaugherandsisterandloverandauntanddealingwithahubbywhowon’tpregomyeggoandeverythinginbetween.
Congratulations if you got through that.

Good grief, yo. Got happy? I think so.