It was a good day.
My entire personality changes when I get to ride. Or, more precisely, when I don't ride for a long time I become a sullen bastard. When I have recently ridden, I'm just about the jolliest, boots-wearing, good-time-seeking guy you'll ever meet.
After a long period of non-riding, after the withdrawal symptoms go away, I stop noticing my bad mood. This is a bad thing. Fact is, all I have to do is go out for a quick 50 miles or so, and I'm good to go for a day or two. If I'm not aware of my bad mood, however, it won't occur to me to go out riding.
Sometimes, Lady Luck notices and chases me out of the house with a broom, threatening dire consequences if I'm gone for less than two hours and she doesn't see at least one receipt for gas when I get back. Between you and me, I'm the luckiest man in the world.
Anyway, today I rode in to work, so I was a happy camper even when I had to deal with some minor stupid events at work.
I don't know why psychiatrists don't ever prescribe "motorcycles" for depression and stress, but it's probably because they wouldn't get any repeat business.