Valentines: Why happiness is like being depressed and Hallmark sucks

So it's Valentine's Day.

Fuck Valentine's Day.

If you need Hallmark to tell you when it's okay to give your one-in-a-million a once-in-a-lifetime night:

YOU ARE DOING IT WRONG.

I was very happy yesterday, so much so that I wondered what the hell was wrong with me.  I took my temperature, nope, normal.  I checked my eyesight, nope, I wasn't going blind.  I pinched myself, nope, I wasn't dreaming.  I pinched someone else and they punched me, so yes, I'm still living in the real world.

But yes, I was happy.  This kind of happy:

It was just a bit like being on drugs.

It's also a bit like being depressed.

Sometimes you get sad, it's a natural consequence of being alive.

And maybe happiness is just like that sometimes.  The confluence of starlight, the alignment of Mercury in rising and Libra in your pocket, your blood sugar up and your electric potentials evoked.

Sometimes you just feel good.  It's as reliable as death and taxes.  As inexplicable as...death and taxes.  But unlike death and taxes, it happens more than people realize.  Drugs operate in the bizarre landscape that is our mind and play by the rules of our biology.  Anything they can do, we can do.  And better.

So do drugs.  I mean.  Be happy.  And when you are, it's not worth questioning it, honestly.  It won't answer.