Perspective

via momo-fali

I really don’t know what’s happened to me in the last year. I mean, I’ve always been sarcastic, cynical, bitchy and kind of a pill to hang out with. Sure, I’ve always had my moments of joy and all that, but in general, I don’t think I’m what someone would call a “happy” person. Not that I wasn’t pleasant or pleased with my life, I’m just not the kind of person who’s going to bop around like Racheal Ray, with a goofy smile plastered on my face and stars in my eyes.

But lately I’ve found myself smiling more than normal. I’ve found the stress that usually gathers in my back and neck has started to dissapate. The winter colds, flu and other ailments that tend to plague me from November until March have lessened and the sicknesses I do contract pass by quickly. I’m sleeping better, my body feels better. For the first time in my entire life, I feel like the outside and inside of me look pretty damn good.

And I’m not quite sure where any of this came from.

My marriage is wonderful. My child is funnier than George Carlin. My weekends are spent painting bathrooms and taking afternoon naps with Lulu. My weeknights are full of good food and drinks, mostly with my family, but sometimes even with friends. My job is fantastic, and when so many people are worried about their next paycheck, I’m in a very safe place. My husband’s business is taking off, and he has started to take steps to better his life, which leads to us being so much happier together. I know all of this is true, because right now I have a cold that is making my head throb and my throat ache, yet still, still I feel happy. I should be pissy and grumpy and tired and an all around pain in the ass. But I’m not.

When did I become a happy person? And more importantly, what the hell am I going to write about now?!