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Am I happy?
It seems so.

According to the literature, for unhappy people time drags its ass. They wish it were evening when it is morning, and they wish it were morning when they go to bed. For me, on the contrary, the days, and even the years, chase each other like kittens chasing their tails (as Mencken said of his newspaper days).

Also, I sing a lot. That's conventionally a sign of happiness.

Mencken said: "To be happy...I must be:
a. Well-fed, unhounded by sordid cares, at ease in Zion.
b. Full of a comfortable feeling of superiority to the masses of my fellow-men.
c. Delicately and unceasingly amused according to my taste."
I fall short only on point b --- and, it seems, not seriously short. The media show me, at a safe distance, plenty of people to feel superior to: peasants, warlords, drug cops, mass entertainers, promoters.


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