For the past four or five days I've found myself oddly, unusually happy and content for no good reason. I'm typically, in general a pretty happy person, but there are, of course, mood ups and downs (and always that pesky anxiety and control freakiness). Still, I was walking to the bus stop downtown Saturday evening, I suddenly realized that even though it had been a long day in the library and an early morning, even though I had just put a couple of hours of serious work in at the studio printing a couple big chap orders and fussing over soap labels, things which normally have me dragging and hating the world, I would not rather be anywhere else than exactly where I was, doing exactly what I am doing. Would not be be any other person than who I am, would not have changed anything in my life for some other things.
Even circumstances I don't have alot of control over, the dayjob doldrums, the continued on again / off again tawdry romantic crises with R, seem like just little and eventually rectifiable things given time. Perhaps it's just pre-birthday introspection, but I've been downright cheery and it's freaking me out a little. I'm a worrier by nature, by heredity, and I seem constantly to be worrying about just about everything, from general things like having enough money, to how clean my apartment is or isn't, to how far I am behind with the press schedule, to whether or not I am stuck in a rut with my writing. Saturday night, suddenly these seemed like very small and easily remedied things instead of the big deal I usually make them out to be. I guess I always feel like there is so much going on that I rarely take much pleasure in all the little things that have the power to make me happy--the big box of glorious vintage slips I unpacked and was anxious to get to dying, steak quesadillas from the all night Mexican place, taking goofy pictures of the cats, making and photographing little arty things, writing poems.
Maybe it's that whole living in the moment things rather than running around like a crazy person with a rabid to-do list to the next thing then the next and never reaching the end point, all the while just sort passing through things and people, and never really stopping to notice things or enjoy things for what they are. Maybe this is just one of those cliche "leaning to smell the roses" posts, and I'll probably be cranky and insufferable again by Friday, but I'll enjoy it while it lasts. :)