Where did it go? It isn't that I'm exactly unhappy, just unsettled. And on edge.

Oh, I know. It is my to-do list, which includes fun things like Xtreme Spring Cleaning, and filing taxes. Things like trying to connect with about 20 people who are waiting on me in a saint-like manner.

The hard part is that I really have nothing to complain about. Really. Life is actually pretty good right now. There are no illnesses, no major drama, no nothing. Just a bad case of spring fever and a phoenix-like rebirth of The Lazy.

Countless times in the last week I've found myself simply standing, unfocused eyes aimed at the nearest wall. I'll spend time gazing out the window, and then throw myself wholeheartedly into some mundane task or other. And then I go back to the state of meh. I remember when our old dog Bonnie had a stroke. Her last days were spent laying on the kitchen floor, staring into some sort of la-la land only she could see. I imagine I look like that, in my unguarded moments around the house.

I've stocked the house with healthy foods. I'm drinking a ton of water, and getting plenty of exercise (I've got a diet challenge going over at BigSlice - we're having a blast, and I'm finally losing weight) and slowly but surely the house is being decluttered. The Happy is packed in one of these overflowing bookshelves, under my bed with the dust bunnies, in the file cabinet with my tax paperwork, I'm sure of it.

Down the hall, my four-year-old is singing. She's found her bead roller-coaster toy, and is singing a made-up song sending the little beads off on their path, and then welcoming them home as they land. This song has a ton of verses, apparently. Each little bead gets a festive send-off, and a warm welcome at home. She's not feeling overwhelmed with the number of beads left to move. She's taking them one at a time, giving them a loving journey and then moving on to the next one.

She's got The Happy - each bead is a chance to sing the song again, and see the happy ending. I'm bound and determined to find the tune that allows me to cheerfully see each of my tasks completed - one at a time.