Bibliomama

Does it sound weird if I say I think of myself generally as a happy person? I know I complain a lot. I know my serotonin and dopamine levels are frequently recalcitrant. But I also know I have a really great life. Parents, sister, husband, kids, friends - all pretty much beyond reproach (not that I don't reproach the heck out of all of them on occasion). Food, shelter, clothing, more books than you can shake a stick at. So if I'm feeling a little flat this week, and I can feel the cancer-thoughts sparking like malevolent little fireflies in my head every time I feel an ache or pain, and everything I'm reading seems dumb, and things are just kind of lustreless and wearying, I know it will pass. And so as not to let the whole week go by post-less, I'm concentrating on the things that have made me happy instead of surly recently: My Dad and Lucy: "I always said I didn't like little dogs. Guess I have to eat my words." Happily, the words taste like puppy