When I was in my tweens, collecting bubble gum inserts was all the rage. My favorite was “Love is…”. It came in strawberry banana flavour, and then chocolate, and my mouth is watering, just looking at the image of the box.
Here are a couple of those inserts – complete with Russian captions!
… as every single Russian immigrant who grew up in the 90s is smiling from ear to ear. I know you remember these!
I am not musing on love today, but happiness. Happiness not in a sense of big things, but rather tiny moments. After especially dark humour and discussion on death, a little bit of happy is perhaps in order.
This is like my own edition of The Book of Awesome, which if you have not read, you totally should. I found myself crying uncontrollably. From laughter. It was delicious.
So, here we go…
What is happiness?
You know when you are running late to an appointment or a meeting? You are feeling stressed out, and start pondering whether or not you should let that person know that you are running late, but don’t really want to, because you were kinda late last time, so what would they think? And then you get a text message from that very person, letting you know that THEY are running late?
That, and getting the last mint Oreo after 2.5 hours of indoor climbing.
Oh, and listening to an awesome soundtrack for a really shitty movie, and then wondering how does that happen? How do they manage to record an awesome soundtrack for a really (really) shitty movie? I mean, it’s not like they had some great source of inspiration or anything?
Spending the whole Saturday hiking with your best friend. Unplugged. Except this one time, when you had to ask a stranger to take a picture of the two of you. But at least you didn’t spend four hours taking selfies. Even though you were tempted. A little.
Hearing the birds while you write. Bonus points if the birds are real. And not, you know… imaginary birds in your head. Although those can be fun too.
Realizing that you discovered a way to put on a sunscreen that you do not entirely hate, which involves rubbing it in your palms first, so it’s not freezing cold as it goes on your skin. And then forgetting to put on sunscreen altogether, ending up with a sexy sports bra burn. Anything for sexy. Anything.
Starting your Sunday morning with a brick workout. Sort of. Twenty minute writing session followed by ninety minutes of running, and hill climbing, and log carrying. With a friend. Writing nerds everywhere rejoice.
Thinking of all the epic plans you have for your birthday this year, and how awesome birthday are in general, and how you can’t believe that some adults do not even celebrate birthdays. And how, perhaps, you can double up on your own celebration – perhaps, start with two weekends in a row, and then work your way up. Yeah, that is a good plan.
Finally tackling a big boring dreary task you’ve been procrastinating on for months, and realizing how much cognitive energy it has been occupying in your head, and how you can now use that cognitive energy for all the epic plans for your birthday (see point above).
Window shopping on Expedia, and musing which country to escape to as soon as this country gets miserable, yet enjoying how it is July, and warm, and (real) birds are singing.