The more I read about health and wellness, it’s all about getting your head right. That’s where all the good and bad hormones start that wreck or delight your body. And as you get more Boomlennial, the work doesn’t get any easier. When you’re less mature, those feel good juices ooze out for many inane reasons. But at some point they become a slow, dripping faucet. But, I have the fix! Duck tape! Kidding. Kind of. I downloaded an App called 3GoodThings. The premise is everyday you list three things you are grateful for. Easy enough, right? And while you are doing the exercise, the feel good dopamines start flowing and the cortisols that could break you dissipate. There is some science behind it that I could share, but that would put me back in chemistry class and I’d be scraping the bottom of the barrel of hormones and ain’t nobody got time for that. I even fainted once in a lab to get out of class. Not really, but maybe really. The body works in mysterious ways and the concussion was absolutely worth it. So back to the App. It’s stressing me out!!! First few days it was too easy peasy. I have a lot to be grateful for and I know it. And never forget. Front and center. But then…..I ran out of material. Even a brilliant Boomlennial such as myself was having a hard time producing juice so to speak. Have to relax. Calm. Start out slow. What do I love? Words!!! They excite and delight me. Delight! Feeling better already. Peace ahhhhh. Wine, duh. Duh. Speaks volumes. Snow day! Even today I watch the crawl of cancelled schools and get giddy when the local school shows up. (Better not tell all my secrets….) F*ck! Sorry but it’s a great word and a girls gotta do what a girls gotta do. In the name of science mind you. Savory! Yes yes! July 4th! Spigot is turned on now. Irresistible! Think stuffed animals or ‘plushes’ as my wee dearests say. See how this is supposed to work? But now I’m over thinking it and want to conduct my own research. If I put together my yucky words will it drag me to the bottom? Ooze. Moist. Pimple. Widow. Pus. F*ck (swings both ways which makes it a really terrific word). Almost boosted my mood. Back to research. Repo man. Brain damage. The Bachlorette. Liver. Visceral fat. Yep, I’m depressed. And quite the researcher! Makes me a believer in the concept. And wine, duh. What do they call a man with a rubber toe? Roberto, silly. Feel better?