I guess I’m not often really happy. I am satisfied and glad and stuff, but occasionally I get this burst of happiness, like a whale erupting through the water’s surface, and it’s sort of shocking and I wonder what I did to deserve it and why I can’t feel it all the time and if I’m depressive most of the time and if I should be on anxiety medication and if I’m actually totally fine and I’m just being a crybaby and since I can feel this happiness I can probably feel more of it, more often.
Anyway, I was really happy the other day. I had all this sudden energy, maybe in part because I’ve been walking every day, like a champ. (To the guy who commented arrogantly under one of my old posts that I have the wrong attitude about health, IN YOUR FACE, I’m totally exercising and you don’t know anything about me!) I was bouncing around, being all thankful for stuff. We’d gone out with another couple and everyone got along really well and it’s so damn hard to find other couples to hang out with. I got some work done ahead of time, even though it was the weekend, and next week was going to be awesome because my friend Brenda was coming to visit and we were going to have the best time ever.
I went to bed early, because my sleep schedule has been better recently and I feel deliciously tired in the evening, instead of vaguely bored and confused about what I should be doing and thrown off by the fact that it’s dark so early.
And then, in a haze of sleep, Bear was standing by the side of the bed, trying to tell me things in an urgent, miserable voice. Something about the freezer and the front door. My brain pushed his image away, trying to burrow back into dreams. But he wouldn’t go away. Disoriented and foggy, I half-thought, “No, but today was so happy…”
And then I was mostly awake and he was telling me, “I think I killed Minute.” (My tiny orange cat.)
It started with the meat freezer.
We have one now. It’s new. We have it because we bought an eighth of a cow.