Awk. Another weekend ends. It's a little disconcerting that everything is up in the air, and I spent most of the weekend thinking about the possibilities of the coming week. Watching Friday and Saturday slip through my fingers because I was worring more about Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday was a little strange. I've been pinning hopes on such small slivers lately. It's strange that I couldn't wish for more potential happiness, even though there isn't a lot to be really happy about in my life right now. I'm finding all this joy in possibility.
It's like I'm taking happiness on credit now, on the idea that I can be happy now because there will be a surfeit of happiness in the future. It's probably entirely unreasonable, borrowing against the future that way. Will I be extra depressed if it all doesn't work out?
See also: changeful, jigamaree.