I am stupidly happy today.

There’s no particular reason for it that I can detect–is it the crisp fall day? Waking up this morning with good hair? The fact that I apparently CAN have the Bathroom of Monochromatic Lust? Getting all that clutter cleared out? Finding a pair of matching turquoise desk lamps for the bedroom? Finding the cheap black end-tables with all the storage space, suitable for vast quantities of gessoboard AND a half-dozen My Little Ponies to be cannibalized at a later date? That I finally finished the art for that one project, or that those other people may want to license art for another thing? Serious seratonin imbalance?

I dunno. All of the above, maybe. All I know is that I went to lunch with Deb today in a stupidly good mood, which continued throughout the day. At one point I found myself singing the Happy Squid Song in the car, and you know it’s bad then.

The Happy Squid Song originated during my misspent college years, when our primary activity was to gather at the home of my buddy Mike, smoke vast quantities of marijuana, and play Magic: The Gathering, while watching “I, Claudius.”* Now, I do not sing, partly out of shame, mostly out of respect for the Geneva Convention. (I once accused my mother of being supportive out of a sense of maternal obligation rather than any great talent on my part. She promptly shot back, “That’s not true! Have I ever once told you you could sing?” This may tell you something.)

All this goes to explain that by the time the Happy Squid Song would make an appearance, I would be seriously lit. (But still capable of playing Magic. I might not remember my own name, but I would by god remember which of my army had banding.) Deeply baked, peering blearily at my cards, I would begin to hum, and then to sing, tuneless and tonelessly:

I’m a squid…
Happy squid…
Wiggly squid…

That was the entire song, repeated at intervals. (Look, I didn’t say it was a GOOD song.) Depending on the state of my cohorts, they would either scream something like “OH GOD, NOT THE DAMN SQUID AGAIN,” or also begin singing. Sometimes both. Occasionally we’d do the Happy Squid Song as a round, although I’m not sure if that was because of musical improvisation or because Mike would be slow on the chorus.

For whatever weird reason, due to endless repetition, the Happy Squid Song, which should have died mercifully long ago, remains etched into the highways and byways of my brain. And today, in senseless and unexamined joy, I began to sing it.

And I feel pretty good.

*That’s another story in and of itself, and disturbingly enough, involves uncooked whole chickens

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