I got lured onto this website for actual happiness and there was this test that I took. The essay question is the one that got me. I did my usual glib start AKA fucking with the therapist but I soon found out the asshole in the mirror is me. Here's what I wrote:

The thing is I was diagnosed as mildly depressed but I was actually mildly miserable. In spite of all my good fortunes at that time I had this notion that I could behave as badly as I liked because, well, I'm too damn complex. As a result, even when things were going along positively, I seemed to thrive on a kind of madness that mucked up all the good stuff. It could be from all the things written about misery but just when I'd get a handle on things, teeth meet ass, ass, howd ya like that? It had to be even more maddening living with me, hoping when the out of control moments crept in again, I'd land back in the safe harbor and hope maybe it was the last time. But I always gave in when I struggled with temptation and there we go again. Mercifully, God stepped in, fate lent a hand, Cupid shot me with his arrow, I assembled all the essential ingredients and this time made the right choice and fashioned this new life in actual happiness and deposed that mildly miserable guy to the rear view mirror forever.

OK, I like those words because they came from truth and here's the kicker. Guys of my ilk used to have only about 10 years of adulthood before diptheria, TB, falling rocks, whatever eliminated the need for retirement planning. I'm staring at nearly 20 years of the mofo and I'm barely getting started. It's like the difference between a tire and 360 BJs - one's a goodyear and the other's a GREAT YEAR.