Happy Happy

I just wanted to sit down and write something in the middle of the night because…I’m happy.

I’m happy because I’m warm in my bed and it’s absolutely frigid outside. I’m happy because I’m going home this weekend to visit my family and exist outside of this college town for a few days. I’m reading Amy Poehler’s book, Yes Please, and every page I read reminds me of who I’m going to become — spirited and wise and silly. I played so much guitar yesterday that my fingers are still sore today. I’m listening to The Doors, Peter Paul and Mary, The Allman Brothers Band, Led Zeppelin, Neil Young…and realizing how much beautiful music has made my life worth living. I spent the day with my roommate studying at a coffee shop and actually got a lot of work done. I’m happy because I’ve got two exams this week and feel enormously unprepared for both of them but…when has that ever stopped me? There’s always time.

I’ve found people I love and I spend time with them. I tell them how I feel about them. They feel the same way back.

I smell like incense almost every day because I bought champa flower oil and haven’t been able to stop sniffing myself for the past year. I worked out and ate cookies today.

I’m happy because…I’m me. And I’m a happy person. Even the word “happy” looks happy and that makes me happy, too.

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16 thoughts on “Happy Happy

  1. “Happy Cappy”, it has a nice ring to it. A little birdie told me you’ve been lonely lately, I would really love to catch up since we didn’t get to talk much on my birthday. I’m contacting you on here because you deleted your Facebook and I don’t have your number :P but really if we don’t hang out soon I am going to be sorely disappointed.
    ~Becca

  2. Christmas Lights

    Red light pokes through Christmas snow as a carpet
    of wet brown dead pine needles softens your walk
    from Usang Apartments to Immundae, where you’ve
    sat, looking at Ggachi in Sycamores for seven years.
    One eighth of the life so far boiled down to a poem,
    a gathering, a suspended, augmented, finally diminished
    goodbye. But this is the season of hello, great merriment,
    brotherhood, sisterhood: of Auld Lang Syne spiced with
    eggnog, turkey, ham, the harvest feast to last through stronger
    longer days, detectable to the naked eye on exactly December
    twenty fifth. My home town got its first four-foot blast in
    November, so those snow-covered lights will diffuse a bit longer
    than usual, emitting just enough color to stop frozen tears
    from forming, and keep long-weary souls enraptured as humans
    long enough for love to bloom again. Fourteen hours of dark
    but interrupted by lights many don’t take down until March. Why?
    Because they know what color means to those who make their
    appearance at Christmas then slink back, unable to match their desires
    to the way the world really works. To them the Christmas Fa La La
    means more than to the carol-leaders. A toast to quiet perseverance.

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