Things are too good right now: I'm headed for a fall. The Fates are jealous and nasty: nothing raises their ire quite so much as the spectacle of someone temporarily happy and without worries. Shakespeare alluded to the medieval concept of the Wheel of Fortune in King Lear: one who is sitting pretty and happy at the top of the Wheel will soon be crushed in the shit at the bottom -- and totally unable to buy a vowel.
I don't mean to be fatalistic or pessimistic, but I find that whenever I am in one of these good spells, where I'm neither working to death, nor fraught with anxiety about something or other, it is inevitable that I am setting myself up for a world of hurt soon to follow. It's as if I am building up the coming bad times and vibes with every laugh and smile. It's like that Rob Base song, "Joy and Pain/Like sunshine and rain".
All the signs of imminent doom are present: a complacent and dopey feeling of well-being, sleeping at least eight hours a night, fuzzy optimistism, excessively good cheer. Yeah, I am going down soon. My giggles and grins are but stormy petrels, harbingers of a pain unrelenting and long.