When Yer Twenty...Six

I tend to forget about this blog when I'm happy. That's not to say that I'm not happy right now. On the contrary, I am really stinking happy. I wish I were more inclined to write regardless of my circumstances. I suppose that if feels like I'm bragging, in a way, when I celebrate my life in this context. Why does it feel more acceptable or less obnoxious to write something moody and depressed? (More acceptable to whom?) Why does happiness so often come across as less genuine, less interesting than despondency? Is this musing a symptom of being an English major?

I'm really happy right now and I choose to admit my contentedness (mixed with a healthy dose of anxiety and excitement). I am going to be a student again. I will have a pile of demanding books (I'm salivating at the thought- seriously). The keyboard will be the crack to my fingertips, and my dark circles will claim more territory. I need this. I was more uncertain that I'd be accepted into this program than I was when I applied to my undergraduate institution. The fact that I'm changing the trajectory of my life is difficult to grasp, but then again, what of the future isn't?