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March 18, 2005
Some days I'm in a horribly good mood. So good that my smile makes Julia Roberts's trademark grin look like a sourpuss frown on the face of a crotchety old crone who just learned that Duane Reade is out of epsom salt. The smile takes up residence on my face all day and has an easy time staying.

Then I question my happiness. Why am I so damned happy? Where did this come from? What happened that made this possible? Most times I ignore my questions, though, and continue smiling. I don't want to be suspicious of my own happiness.