Stuff, with a capital S

Recently, I've (probably annoyingly) begun saying "Stuff!", flinging my arms out broadly, instead of reexplaining each time that what I mean is a ridiculously positive turnabout in my perception of life. Stuff! is the ineffable, the swath of possibilities and first and second and third chances, the opportunity to try something new and get it wrong, the perceived flattening of obstacles previously intimidatingly insurmountable, the rerecognition that the only reason to desire immortality is for the sake of eternal omniscience and joy, that there's just not enough time unless you fire up the will.

What does this mean? I'm in a disturbingly perpetual good mood, and my cigarette boat of newfound hope and overexcitability will do its damnedest to drag you all kneeboarding along in its wake, coughing and spitting as you twist on the tow rope.

Yes, I'm cautiously happy.