Tuesday, April 8, 2014

On Happiness




Ritual

It amazes me at least as often as it happens
that at times
even when my life is good
even when there is absolutely nothing in the way of my
simply being happy
if I just let it be


If given the choice I'd choose
death

funny stuff that
funny stuff.
  

But not today. Not today.

I have a nearly impossible time accepting happiness as a state of mind rather than an aberration likely caused by eating too many baked beans. I've spent most of my life in two phases; waiting to be whacked across the head by a two by four, and trying to recover from being whacked across the head by a two by four. I will admit to having been happy now and then, but only in the context of a circumstance driven euphoria, ie: wedding day(s), first pilot solo, witnessing a friend's joy, being the only person in the universe to see the sun rise in just that way,from just that spot.

I shy away from happiness when it approaches. For one, I don't believe it. Say, happiness comes knockin; what does it usually say?

"No shit man! This is gonna be great! Let me in! You're gonna love this! PARTEE TIME!!!!!"

And then you'd say from behind the still closed door, "Yea fine, but what about tomorrow?"

And suddenly the sound of firecrackers and boat whistles and a dozen kazoos playing the Canadian National anthem stops... and there's total silence outside. Sheepishly he'll say "Well, I can't say; tomorrow's not in my pocket at the moment, otherwise I'd promise. But there's always today!" And then he starts up again, bangin the drums and whistling some Irish jig like he wants me to come outside and dance. So you say,

"What about the next day then. Can I be happy the next day? It'd be better if I could put a few days in a row, you know, as if it was possible that I might be happy all the time if I could get through the trial period."

And then you hear him call to the happiness truck driver something about "the guy doesn't want his happiness; I say we just leave and go to the next house." And then you reconsider and decide that maybe being happy for one crappy day wouldn't be all bad... but when you open the door the freak is gone already.

It's like that for me. Usually. But at the moment I have to relinquish my hold on the darkness, at least I have to twist back the mini blinds just a little and let the tiniest amount of sunlight in because I'm... (reasonably) happy at the moment. Now don't go gettin all confused, I'm sure I'll have a relapse and be right back in the shit again any time now; and note that I did not say "happy", but only "happy with a diminishing qualifier". All my (middling) happiness needs a caveat, and there's a damn good reason for that. If I allowed myself to be truly happy for just one single moment, the wheels of fate would be set in motion, the mouse trap would be sprung, the dominoes would begin to fall and the manure would hit the whirly twirly air thrustage device. All I gain from being happy in the true meaning of the word, is a spot much higher on the diving board of life, that overhangs the pool of water long since leaked out.

You all know what I mean. If my life is already horrid, a little time in a torture chamber is like an hour watching a reality show. Annoying, but no big deal. If my life were really good, it's like I've become a snowflake (Oh look, isn't it cute? A little snowflake!) on the top of a mountain just waiting for a swift kick to send me snowballing downhill where I'll end up an orb the size of Colorado, crashing and smashing everything in sight until I explode in a whitish, flaky, bloody mess; and any old kick would do. (Even yours)

Here's the rub. If I weren't taking drugs that take all my icky thoughts and whitewash them so they fool me into thinking they're just kind of boring thoughts that I shouldn't pay any attention to, I might be impressed with my current status. That'd mean I did it myself. I. Ron. King of the mountain. Am. Happy. (Moderately). But the fact is, I do-do drugs, so the high is propaganda; it's the evil drug companies controlling me like a marionette, waving my little stick arms and making me dance and saying "here is little Ronnie, being HAPPY!!!" And so I am. (Sorta) Because no one can resist the evil drug companies when they call!

Truly, if I have to be happy (after a fashion), I wish I knew it was because I was actually happy (passably) and not a white lab rat on happy juice. But, sadly (completely so in spades), I can't. So I'll have to settle for happiness as a drug induced stupor, in deference to happiness as a life's blood.

Yet, I am (moderately) happy right now, so given the choice I had to make in the poem above, I'd choose...

a couple hours to think about it first.

1 comment:

  1. I've been there. I understand the choice. I'm glad I didn't.

    ReplyDelete