Why must I be sad?

It may not surprise you that I'm generally a happy person. I don't really get upset or angry over little things. I am, if you will, a steady ship on a rolling sea. Things just don't really get to me- I mean, I worry about war and politics and all the other grand institutions of life, but in reality, they don't touch my life in any meaningful way.

On a personal level, I don't really get upset by people. I'm always concerned that my friends and family are making good choices for themselves, and I try to help guide them. The only time that they don't seem to appreciate it is when I'm wearing my white robes and halo. Then it just seems patronizing.

So, given these facts, it's entirely possible that I'm mentally unstable in some way. Nobody can be happy all the time, can they? Except for billionaires who haven't let the money get to their heads- those people are probably not weeping into their platnium-and-jewel ensconced pillows.

I looked up the definition of someone with a manic personality, and this is what I found:

-A distinct one-week period, at least, where the person displays an elevated, irritable, or expansive mood. (27 years, going on strong)

-During the time of the mood disturbance, three of the following symptoms must have been present:

• grandiosity or enhanced self esteem (But that's fitting for the Greatest Being in the Universe, of course)
• less need for sleep (I don't need sleep, but sometimes the covers are just so warm.
• abnormally talkative (Does singing random bits from the Safety Dance count as talking?)
• racing thoughts (wooooblogIlovebloggingandnextI'mmakingapirateblogandwhoo)
• highly distractible (This is one I don't underst
• psychomotor agitation or increased desire to complete any goals (I will become the first man to tapdance on the head of Walter Koenig, by God)
• excessive involvement in pleasure seeking and reckless behaviors. (I've only been given oral sex by a hooker while I was racing my car and doing coke off the back of her head twice. No, wait, three times.)

-The symptoms are not due to substance abuse. (I'm high on life and it's various derivatives.)

So I may be crazy, but at least it's a good kind of crazy. The only better way to be crazy would be if you had the urge to constantly bake cookies or something.

Then again, I may not be crazy. I mean, look at all the wonder that surrounds us every day- oranges grow in convenient little bite-size segments; trees are big and provide shade on hot days. There's birds and they can fly. And we can fly and drive and do all sorts of other cool things because some guy who lived back in the day when they couldn't do those things said, "Hey, I want to drive a motorized death machine", and he did. The ocean has waves that are fun to play in, and there's snow in the mountains so that people there aren't sad that they can't play in the surf. There are tumbling streams and icy lakes and rolling plains. There are buzzing insects and ancient boulders and water so sweet it's like summer wine. There are noisy farts. Goosepimpled skin. There are verdant and idyllic ponds filled with colorful fish and crossed over by stone bridges, and if that doesn't make you happy, then not even colorful balloons and crying children can do so. There are literally millions upon millions of things just in the area around your house (or hovel, if you are a medieval serf), and we have such a ridiculous and misguided view of how much we understand those things, when we don't even understand ourselves.

What's to be sad about? We're alive, if just for a fleeting moment. There is beauty, and it is in everything and everyone, even scurvy 17th century pirates (or should I say, especially in scurvy 17th century pirates). And it's Friday.

On second thought, maybe I am the crazy one.