If I could bottle a day I would pick this past Monday. The weather was perfect and I felt fit, productive, and content. The only thing missing was a head first dip into a tub of melted chocolate. Cooled off, of course.
All kinds of good stuff happened. I dug a small garden and planted four tomato plants and two pepper plants. I pedaled down the heart of Glen Carbon, from Enterprise to Panera, without being squashed by a truck. I even avoided two common, negative occurrences: cutting my finger with our sharpest kitchen knife and having my nose pierced by our puppy’s razor teeth.
In the evening with my trike and trailer I hauled home a bag of soil, four zucchini plants, a pineapple sage plant, and some other obscure herb I can’t think of. We’re already members of a food co-op, so I’m sure we’re going to have zucchinis falling out of our asses this summer. (It’s much more comfortable than when they’re going in. I’m kidding and it’s a small miracle I allowed this joke to stay in because, well, “that’s not right,” which is something I hear people saying quite often.)
The problem with my good days is that they’re usually followed by days of spectacular crapiness, just a shit-storm of crap. I’m totally open to follow great days with medium quality days if The Universe is open to that. What do you think? Universe?
If I ever experience two almost-perfect days in a row, I’ll probably fill my pants with moist zucchini muffins from the shock. And we all know what that feels like, don’t we?
But seriously, I know that happiness is, like, a choice or something. At least that’s what I’ve read. If a cat barfs on my keyboard, I can choose to smile and laugh. If I crash my bike into a bush and emerge with a dog turd stuck to my cheek, I can choose to smile and laugh.
So . . . our assignment for today: to smile and laugh (even when you don’t feel like it).by