What is this thing called Contentment? What are you doing here, Security? Did I just hear you GIGGLE? My God, WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH CRANKY? Something has been visited upon me, and by Buddha I think it’s a spot of Happiness! And, please don’t judge, it was so worrisome to me, I had to take it to therapy! Twice! Oh wait three times!!!
Group Therapy: “I think I’m manic. I’m feeling really optimistic. I’m energetic. I’m getting up before the alarm.”
Me: “How do I know if I’m manic?” Therapist, accusingly: Well how much are you sleeping?” Me, defensively: “Well last night I only slept EIGHT HOURS!” Therapist spits out: “That’s NORMAL!” Me, pitifully: Cries. “Am I Happy?” Therapist, hopelessly: Sighs. “I guess…. Oh by the way your group therapist called to say that you said you thought you were manic.” —
I returned to Group Therapy last night and let them know that I am in fact Happy, not Manic.
Are you beginning to see how foreign the calm quiet sweet fine-ness is to me? Contentment to me is not big or loud or proud or rich or orgasmic. It’s just quiet. Putzing. Thinking. Doing. Resting. Walking. Resting. Creating. Being. Resting. Reading.
And just like that. It has been visited upon me. I’m going to go take a quiet bath. And get some rest.