The Happiness Post
The sound of clothes in the dryer, the zippers smacking the sides, the light blue cotton smell of the dryer sheets, mixed with the rumble of a dishwasher full of dishes from a yummy meal, along with the soft sounds of a sports announcer on the TV means we are home, we are clean, we are full and thus we are happy. I never thought about what would make me happy at 32, but these simple sounds are my happiness equation.
I went for a drink with the amazing Sam and I had an unmixed bellini and it was good with a capital “Can I have one more of these please?” The waitress warned me it was not blended, with the same sense of trepidation in her voice like she was telling me it had a communicable disease lining the rim of the glass. She’s fucking nuts because taking away the ice equals guess what? More delicious booze, which is something to NEVER apologize for.
I used to give my brother shit for doing high school homework in pencil and wonder how his school was so different from mine. Then I found out he was able to pay girls, in vending machine chips, to see their boobs, so the differences between our high schools were MANY and COMPLEX. Last night, left laptop-less and unable to find that right pen (You know, the one that isn't razor sharp and stabs through the paper but also isn't so soft it makes your e's look like o's? Yeah, that one.) I used a pencil to write some stuff down and I now understand how RAD it can be. That mechanical pencil with a full eraser made brainstorming ideas FUN. Normally that process is STUNNINGLY NOT FUN. So, I'm all about the lead today. And erasing mistakes. And maybe gently doodling between words with the soft side of the lead. I will KILL IT writing in cards now, as opposed to (seriously) writing rough drafts first, then painstakingly writing the "good draft" in the card. A crossed out word or letter is the bane of my existence, which is proof again, that it's not that hard being me.