Well, there has to be something that died in me long ago, for me to look at my happiness in cynical detachment. I am all bouncy and lovely and animated, but I know that could crash anytime soon. And I cannot ignore the cynical voice that holds the reins over the riotly rampant ditz that I am these days. Because if I do, when I crash from all these brightly burning days, I will find myself not only in ashes, but in a pit, dug out from mania.