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Don't you love the days where you just can't shake how awesome life can be?

Not today... yesterday. Today was a demonstration of how sucky technology is. (Bus driver lacks brain, CD player lacks batteries, cel-phone lacks... something cel-like.)

Yesterday, though, I was so busy being happy that I didn't even have time to write about it. It was just one of those days. Crisp cold, stinging color into my cheeks and making me feel each bracing breath: beautiful. Sweater weather, meaning I had a great excuse to hug everybody and say I was using them for body warmth.

I've kept losing weight, by some miracle... very slowly, but undeniably. So I celebrated with some cute little black stretchy flares and a purple v-neck three-quarter sleeve top; my hair was behaving (no humidity means pretty spiral curls, in lieu of cavewoman poodle hair), and I looked good. I felt good, but I looked damn good, if I do say so myself. :)

Poetry boy came by as Claudia and I were hanging posters advertising the Christmas concert, and he hugged me hello. His ears were cold. So cute. And he gave Claudia one of those perfunctory "I-know-you-and-I-just-hugged-your-friend" hugs, making me that much happier for my nice long huggy hug. (Wonder if he was out scouting for body warmth, too...)

You might wonder what happened to Sam. Nothing. He's still there, he still fascinates me, but the boy doesn't seem up for reciprocal fascination. So he's been given a grace period, and if he refuses to pick up on anything before Christmas, he's losing his spot on the list. I've no time for waiting around. I'm a highly impatient person, I know, but the boy's had the better part of three months to... something. And he's failed to... something.

I dwell sosomuch in personal things nowadays... and after I promised not to.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm bipolar, though. Because I'll be happy to the point of manic, sailing on rainbows and happy bunnies because of a smile, a good joke, an amazing song, or a high grade, and twenty minutes later I scuff my shoe or something idiotic and I'm all "woe is me." I'll see Barbie and Ken: The College Years enter the cafeteria, and I'm cast into self-loathing for my utter lack of Barbie-ness.

Are we all like this? Is this highschool living on in me for an extra year or two? Or is it just me? I know I sure scared Charlie Brown with my manic-ness. I believe he once described it as "I don't know anyone else who I could describe as quite so... 'aaaah!!'"

(You really have to have the inflection to understand, I guess. Didn't realize how insulting it was back then.)

But for me, very little is gray area, at least as far as emotions go. I find indifference difficult to wrap my psyche around. You can't expect a heart not to beat just because you've painted it like a stone.

What is life for, if not to be lived to the last scrap of flavor? Grab it in your hands and twirl it around you, hug it to your chest, bathe in it, feel it under your lashes when you close your eyes, breathe it on the wind.

Live. What good is this world, with its highs and lows and constant drama and comedy, if you don't wring it for every second it's worth? Couldn't ever be with someone who didn't feel life as deeply as I do. (Well, might forgive him if he came even halfway close to my manic-ness.) If you don't feel every moment with the passion lying dormant in your soul, you're wasting it. At the end of your days you'll have years of frustrated excitement locked away with nowhere to enjoy it.

People don't think they have it in them. In truth, they're waiting for the better times to come before they let it loose, afraid that releasing the pendulum will mean feeling every time it swings into darkness as well as light. Some would rather miss the best and not risk the worst.

Dammit, people, what are you waiting for?

::is too lazy to quote the entire LeAnn Womack song, too... "I hope you daaaaance..."::

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