Okay, so I’m really happy at the moment and it’s freaking me out. Not because there’s anything wrong with being happy. It’s just that I don’t know why I’m suddenly feeling like an exhuberant puppy, can’t understand why I’m crushing on my husband like a lovesick teenager, grabbing my children by the scruffs of their necks and telling them how wonderful they are, why I’m staring out of the window thinking what a wonderful world this is, so full of possibilities, so full of adventure…
See? It’s weird. I’ve googled it to see if it’s the precursor of some terrible disease but so far can’t find one.
But it’s got me thinking. The thing is, I think we’ve all got so used to justifying why we’re feeling slightly grumpy, vaguely dissatisfied with things. I certainly have. PMT. Exhaustion. Post baby blues (I’ve had three of the blighters). Sleepless nights. Worries about bills. Sick children. Sick parents. Unhappy friends. Lack of exercise. Lack of time. Lack of shoes that actually work with my clothes (or clothes that work with my shoes; I’m still trying to figure that one out). All out to vex us, to trip us up, to explain away our glassy eyes, our shrug in response to someone asking how we are. It’s become a way of life; ‘having a proper conversation’ inevitably involves complaining about things.
Which is why I am currently so… confused. I have nothing to moan about; I don’t feel like complaining. I woke up this morning feeling all buzzy and excited, like I’d just had the best first date EVER (know that feeling? walking back on a high, endorphins rushing around your body, your mind full of hope, of expectation, of joy? If not, you will. And it’s wonderful. Really.), when in reality I had half an hour to get three children dressed and breakfasted in time for the school run.
Like I said, it’s weird.
But kind of nice.
Especially because I know the likelihood is that by tomorrow I’ll be back to my reassuringly grumpy self again. Ah, the relief…:)