Why is it so much easier to write about difficult feelings and tricky decisions than it is to write about happiness?
I'm unbearably happy at the moment. So much so, it makes me nervous, and I find myself saying to A "You aren't going to leave, are you?". I tried to push him away by being horrible once. He just gave me a cuddle and asked if I was okay. Proof, if I ever needed it, that he probably isn't going anywhere just yet.
I think it's also that reading about how happy people are is actually a little boring. We like tragedy. We like drama. We like the stories about men who don't call after a date, about kissing inappropriate married men, about friends who are no longer friends, about incestuous webs of friends who have all slept together or lived together (these are all conversations I've had in the last six months or so).
We don't like stories about the way he and I do the crossword on the tube home, or the stories about how I fall asleep on his shoulder when we're watching Eurovision, or how we spent Monday morning making avocado and poached eggs on toast. It's not interesting. It's twee.
So what do I write about?
I'm bored of reading blog posts about lipsticks and wishlists. I'm bored of posts about products that clearly wouldn't have chosen unless they were sent for free.
So it leaves me here. Posting once in a blue moon about nothing in particular. Other than to tell you that lately, I feel like I have really found my people. Those people I'd run to whether I was happy or sad or needed help or needed a laugh. Their initials are oddly alphabetical. A. B. B. C. C. C. D. E. J. M. Occasionally there's a G in there too, though often not. Some live close by. Some live far away. ALL make me hideously happy. I spend little time with people who make me feel anything less than phenomenal- I've had friendships in the past that have made me feel dreadful about myself, where I find myself constantly competing, comparing, and finding myself wanting.
Is this it? Is this what happiness is? Feeling content, and peaceful, and generally smiling rather than feeling anxious and confused?
Of course, it's worth noting that there's an element of this that is a medicated happiness. That a huge part of me fears the fact that this is a medicated happiness. Is it real? Is it an illusion?
I like to think it's real. I suppose only time will tell.
And there was a five-month saga, that left me confused and battered and bruised. That left me feeling baffled and happy and rejected and empowered and oh.so.guilty. Always guilty. I have to keep reminding myself that I genuinely did nothing wrong. I was always honest, never cruel. But regardless, it has now finally, absolutely been put to rest, and the weight that has been lifted from my shoulders as a result is palpable.
What do you want to talk about today?