Suspicious

I've been happy the last few days. Not ecstatic, floating, my-crush-just-said-hi-to-me-in-the-hallway happy. Just normal, regular happy. So normally, regularly happy that at first I didn't even notice it. But then I realized, "Hey. I'm happy":

My children are adorable, I'm reading an enlightening book, that project is almost finished, my clean laundry is all put away, I read Elder Holland's talk yesterday, Greg loves me, the whole house was clean all at once for five or six minutes on Monday, cousins are coming to town, David and I rebuilt the Playmobil police boat, my inbox is filled with lovely emails from lovely people, we all took good naps yesterday, I think I am finally finished spending money this Christmas, and, oh, did I mention my children are adorable.

But, like a true pessimist, I am suspicious of this happiness. Instead of simply enjoying it, my happiness is tainted, as always, with the worry of when it will end. I wish to live in the moment, but once I'm aware that I'm happy, I'm automatically sad too.

Happiness: Will I ever escape the side effects? Will I ever learn to be happy without being sad?