When I started blogging again, I thought I would put in a good faith effort. I was wrong, but what’s new? I’m no stranger to being incorrect. But the thing is, I’ve always done my best writing when my brain was festering with mixed feelings and the inability to communicate with the spoken word. Lately, I’m rocking communication with the spoken word, and I am happy.
I guess I don’t know what to write about. No one wants to hear about how happy my boyfriend makes me. How nice it is to be completely thrilled with the companionship of another human being; how nice it is to truly love someone. Until I was 26, I was almost certain that being inexplicably happy was a myth. I think I was just looking and looming in all of the wrong places, like a bad country song. It turns out it just takes the right person. It just takes another adult who understands adult responsibilities, adult happiness, and an adult who wants to make things work. Someone that wants to make you laugh and enjoys laughing at/wish you as well. Someone who seems perfect for you. Someone whose shoulder you can’t wait to rest your head on at the end of a long day.
If you had asked me a year or two ago if I believe in two people being perfect for each other, I probably would have resisted punching you in the face. Mostly because that would seem like a terrible question to ask of me. I was a professional in regards to cynicism regarding love and finding your person.
But I’m getting used to this happiness business. In the beginning, I was very scared. It’s terrifying to make yourself vulnerable to something you’ve never truly given free will to believe in. I’m over being scared, and I’ve committed myself to taking the plunge to ride this out.
Misery loves company. I’m finding that my miserable friends find me a lot less entertaining now that I’m not knocking around with anger and pessimism in regard to the being happy with my life. I can see that perhaps I was more entertaining to them when I had loads of hateful things to say at any opportunity in regard to others. But me, well, I’m glad I’m not miserable. This whole being content thing, I feel I can rock it dutifully.
If the sap in this made you puke, it’s okay. Sap still makes me puke at times too. I’m just glad I can believe in it. If the title tricked you into reading this, I also apologize. I mentioned no cheese. But I do love cheese: Gouda, Feta, Swiss, Colby. There’s your cheese, fools.