The Happy
Having some very strange rushes of happiness--between rushes of stress and overwhelmedness actually--that feel very physical in nature. Maybe it's hormones. Maybe it's a brain tumor and, like Izzie Stevens, I will begin hallucinating romantic interludes with my dead lover Denny. Ugh. No, instead I will hallucinate romantic two-egg breakfasts at Denny's with my darling wife, the Anti-Denny. With extra buttered toast. Extra buttered everything.