Okay, so anyone who's ever dealt with depression - and we're talking actual, serious, clinical depression here, not "Gosh, I'm feeling awful down today" or "My boyfriend dumped me and I just want to die" - knows that at some points, happiness seems too much to ask for and contentment would feel just super duper. Sometimes there are entire weeks like that, when everything is coming down on top of you and the work you do seems completely unappreciated and you can run your ass off and still gain three pounds and you're pretty sure the reason you're still single is those three pounds, plus the fact that you haven't gotten more than two hours of sleep a night for a week now and look rather like Kate Winslet after the boat sank, and while you're willing to work for it, even contentment seems kinda hard to find.
And then sometimes, you realize that real contentment isn't necessarily job satisfaction, or beauty, or even romantic love. Sometimes, and I don't mean to get sappy here, but I'm thinking it's going to be unavoidable, sometimes contentment is as simple as:
- driving around town for an hour to find a Thai restaurant that's open on a freaking Saturday afternoon, only to find a prime parking space next to a place that serves pad thai and spicy beef salad that will change your religion.
- eating hot fudge sundaes and watching Cary Grant movies with your best friend in the entire world.
- listening to Dave Brubeck on original vinyl as the DVD fireplace crackles merrily and said friend pours you another Jack Daniels and Tab (no, it's good, for serious).
- 44-7 over Louisiana-Monroe without Thomas Brown, Leonard Pope, Jarvis Jackson or Sean Bailey.
I don't know if it'll be enough to get me through the next week, but if anything can, that's it.