Problem.

I've long teetered a fine line between bitter and idiotic, and so this blog was created so I might describe, delineate, explore, analyze, dissect, ponder, and otherwise publicly freak-out about my love/hate relationship with relationships. (Why I have no filter or shame or qualms about doing so is another issue entirely.) However, I no longer have a love/hate relationships with relationships. I'm deliciously, deliriously, disgustingly happy. Which means I'm having a hard time coming up with material. Which is really quite frustrating. Oh, wait. No it's not.

Sure, I could think of stuff to write about. How happy I am, for example. But who wants to hear about that? I certainly don't. I mean, it's a pretty terrible problem to have. Not being about to write about how confused, lost, wrong (or wronged) I am. Really sucks. Who wants to be happy anyway? (Have I mentioned how happy I am, yet? Oh, I did? Sorry.)

Oddly, when I'm happy, I tend to worry: When's this happiness stuff going to end? Can I anticipate every possible outcome so I don't get hurt? (I can. But for some reason I still end up getting hurt. Weird.)

But! I'm not worried. I'm just happy. And that's incredibly boring. Fabulously boring. Terrifically boring a.k.a. not boring at all because I'm so freakin' happy. (Please feel free to hate me. I almost do.)