... and dance, shall we?
This happy-ish state is the pits. The pits, I tell you.
I haven't had a good rant in, like, forever, I'm smiling at random people, and boy do random people smile back or what? And no, surprisingly, not or what. They, in fact, smile back. Like what I have is catching. Like what I need right now is a world where everyone is smiling.
I go to work with a smile, for crying out loud, that is just ridiculous, now. Even seeing and smelling morning-faced and morning-breathed people on the metro doesn't manage to bring me down. Now, granted, the fact that I'm trapped in my own musical little bubble might also be to blame, but come on! On my way to work with a smile, who am I, Laura Ingalls?
Plus I've been supplying my workmates with endless fits of the giggles (first one to read this and comment to the contrary gets... Oh, who am I kidding these days... you'd probably get a sweet smile and a pat on the back). Work and giggles in the same sentence, can you spot the error? What is wrong with me?
I want sour, dour, and... something else -our (flower, this is what I'm thinking. Gah. Or maybe it's flour. That would be only marginally better). I want to stop smiling naffly at that teenage boy who looked oh so tough when he got on the metro, only to fall promptly asleep on the seat and suddenly look 4 again (and he'd probably hate to know that, so why can't I?), and I want to scream at the fact that happy-ish is either too little or too much.
I can't cope!
OK. Slightly better now. With a little bit of luck, I'll have a nightmare tonight and be back to my normal, real, proper self in the morning.
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