Today is one of those days, where you can either be jovial or morose, depending on the status of your interpersonal relationships and how much you buy into social paradigms regarding happiness. I, fortunately, am jovial.
Joviality (jovialness? Jovialism? I don’t know. Let’s say happiness.) Happiness is pretty swell, especially compared to melancholy. When you’re happy, you can do things you can’t do when you’re sad–like say “I’m happy!” and actually mean it, or eat a whole bowl of ice cream without crying. It’s very nice, because who likes salty ice cream?
Of course, there is one downside to happiness: a lot of great artists were either depressed or suffered from other form of mental illness, and so odd’s are, if you’re happy and your quality of life seems pretty swell, that means that you’re not a great artist. You don’t even have an eyepatch.
You see, that was a joke. I was trying to ridicule you so you would become depressed and work harder to do whatever it is you do better than you do it now. Did it work? If not, just read Ethan Frome. That book gave feels before feels were invented.
P.S. If you’re sad because no one loves you, just remember that love loves to love love.