I find it hard to write when I’m happy. Tolstoy said something about all happy families being similar and all unhappy ones being unique, right? Transpose that to feelings. Happiness is just a shared overdose of Vitamin C. Unhappiness is something that’s very personal. I lost my job. I lost my dog. I lost my favorite earrings and now I feel very sad and sentimental about losing them.
So my happiness – it’s hard to dissect it except to say that I’m happy. I don’t even know why.
When I think about it, my former conditions are still there. I’m still unemployed. Still lazy around the house and towards life in general. Still can’t speak passable German – although I did take this pretty language proficiency test online that told me I wasn’t so bad at it. But just as people who are determined to be unhappy remain unhappy no matter what sunshine is showered upon them, so, too, are happy people happy just because. It’s a strange feeling.
I’ll stop here for now. This happy business makes me feel slightly ill.