Kind of a rare, serious (cheesy?) moment if I may....
Do you know what happened to me last weekend? I met someone who I haven't seen for a very long time. Maybe he's having a hard time. I don't know. I never really felt like I knew him that well. He asked me to rank my life's happiness at this moment on a scale from 1 to 10. I said, 8 or 9. Without even really thinking about it. He said, "Me? Two or three...."
I never would've said 2 or 3, even when I was. But man... I don't know. I have my sweet days playing with the boys, hanging out with my coworkers, everything relaxing at work. I have good things planned for the holiday weekends, and so many friends that I can't even keep up with everyone, on rotation. I'm going to Europe in less than a month to see some of the world's most lovely people and get back to myself a bit. I have these families here who treat me like their own. I have my family back home who will stay on the phone with me for hours, just carrying on as if I were sitting next to them in the living room/car/kitchen.
I have a lot to be thankful for. And I know Christmas isn't Thanksgiving, but it is the time of year when I come into contact with all of the lovely people who make my life as fucking fantastic as it is all at once. So I'm thinking about it. And hearing someone else say 2 or 3 kind of kicked my ass this weekend. Because that's not me. I'm an 8 or a 9. Which means, really, I might as well be a 10.
But do you know what? I never would've gotten here if I hadn't taken a fucking look around, at some point, and realized that I probably was at a 2 or 3. And decided that, fucked if I was going to stay there, or let it get worse. Drastic measures and all that. Mine have worked out fucking splendidly.
Merry fucking Christmas, youse guys. I hope you're at least at an 8. You all deserve it.