Happy Happy Happy
I worked out this morning. I was sore from last nights gym tournament. I call it a tournament because instead of sticking to a few exercises like I normally do, I just walked around the gym trying to figure out which part of my body wasn’t sore so that I could punish it for its laziness.
After my workout this morning, I took a shower and went to work. For some reason I felt really good after working out so I was happy. I guess I must not exude happiness much because when I walked in and said, “And how are you 2 ladies doing today?” the front desk women looked at me puzzled and murmered “fine…” under their breaths.
Then as I approached my desk, I asked a colleague the same thing. She distorted her face into a scour and said, “Are you running for office or something?”. Can’t I just be fucking happy people? Sorry for the language, but I felt it emphasized my displeasure at people not being able to deal with my happiness. For god sakes, grab some coffee and some perkiset(?) and go skip on a rainbow. Don’t come to work and harsh my happiness with your smirky hatefulness.
It’s rather unusual for me to be this happy though…maybe somethign is wrong. Maybe my body is emptying all of its seratonin and soon I’ll be left a depressed, mopey mess. No, I’m not quite happy enough for that. I’ve taken ecstacy so I know my happy limits. You can’t say you’re the happiest you’ve ever been until you stare at a motivational poster of a guy in a kayak for 20 minutes pretending to paddle down an imaginary river as you shout joyfully. Ahh high school. Those were the days…