When I'm happy, everything moves so fast. I walk quickly, strides long and sure of themselves, feet stepping down unerringly. I listen to quick songs, I swing along to the rhythm, a massive shit-eating grin on my face. Yes, that's fine, I can do that, yes, I'd love to go there, yes, I am happy.
And it's lovely, being so happy and quick. Being happy makes me happy, and for this long glorious stretch, there is nothing I can't do.
Anticipation makes me happy. Anticipation is almost always better than the real deal, give me anticipation any day of the week. Give me anticipation and I'll give you a coy smile, a glint.
And, of course, the converse is true. When I'm sad, everything slows. I'm perfectly content to just lie on the floor and think. My steps, previously so bold, will falter. I'll walk carefully, small steps, judged steps. When I'm in this mood, everything bad seems worse. The smallest things are obstacles, a catch in the throat. No, that wasn't a good decision. No, he doesn't like you, no, you look terrible.
So, there. I give up. I'll keep my anticipation, thank-you very much, and you can keep your reality. I don't want it, it's bitter and thoughtful.