Leisure

I've been busy lately. I've been happy lately. Perhaps my busyness is just a distraction and so my lack of depression is mistaken for happiness. I do not think so. Even my leisure time is happy. Happiness is strangely addictive. I never thought I would like it. What I mean is that I hope I don't get so addicted to happiness that I continue this busy lifestyle to the detriment of real thought about life. But time to think about life is a luxury. Compared to what the masses of human beings are doing, it is truly a luxury to obsess and be depressed over existential questions, or the meaning of life while such questions answer themselves when every day's a battle to get meal. Plus, something I have discovered on this foray into busyness is that I very often feel an acute sense of accomplishment, something which rarely happened in my life of leisure. The real quandary here is my busy life is happier and therefore it feels more meaningful, but my life of leisure, a.k.a. my life of reading and talking to people, seemed more substantial, yet depressing, still more authentic. Do you, readers of this blog feel my pain? Identify? Have no idea what I'm talking about?