Intentional Happiness

I seem to be drowning. Drowning in stress about how to manage stress. So, I've embarked on a journey of happy thoughts (on Facebook because I do spend so much time there, and for what?). Yesterday a picture of my friend and his son playing violin together sent me into a state of bliss-seeking. I think Grace is sensory-seeking. I think sometimes she avoids, per an email from a friend who helps take care of her on a daily basis (gratitude in mountains). I am too. I am, too. Drinking coffee but it destroys my gut. Pressing cold, frozen freezer pops into the back of my neck.

There are things you should learn. Your past is a skeleton walking one step behind you, and your future is a skeleton walking one step in front of you.

Sometimes your skeletons will dress up as beautiful Indian women and ask you to slow dance. Sometimes your skeletons will dress up as your best friend and offer you a drink, one more for the road. Sometimes your skeletons will look exactly like your parents and offer you gifts.

This is from class today; a sample of Sherman Alexie's The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven, "A Drug Called Tradition."

Where is the place for intentional happiness? When did we stop seeking it? When did we become washed up on the sand soaked in seaweed and too much salt, dried on our faces and our skin faded green like we've slipped away from time for a bit too long, too far? Life is rosy cheeks, counting her freckles, and making space for giving and receiving joy. It is laying down on a doctor's office table and feeling relieved to let go. To stretch your body from your toes to your hands raised above your head, breathing.

This morning I gave two vials of blood. I was surprised to see that I could sit through having my blood drawn; for whatever reason, the mere thought of undergoing any sort of procedure that involves pain felt completely impossible. I thought I couldn't do it. But it wasn't bad at all; we talked about the night I went to be induced with Grace and how the hep-lock caused the room to be splattered with blood because they couldn't get it in correctly. I declined medication, for now, though am considering it seriously (and would appreciate insight). I thought about how many doulas are concerned with or have experience with mental health. I remember that I can care for other children, that I can snuggle babies and help with nursing. I remember that Grace's school and her teachers make me feel at home. I keep reading zines. These things feel good. Yesterday Grace said that swim lessons made her feel good, that they were her "happy feel good thing."

I remember being six years old or so, and whenever I'd have a sleepover at a friend's house I'd completely lose it at bedtime. I couldn't eat dinner at friend's houses, either. I would panic outside of my first grade classroom. I told this to the doctor and she says, "it took you until this February to finally see someone?" For a long time, I saw God.

Sometimes I pray. The doctor said it thundered at 3am. I missed it.

Tell me something good.