There comes a point, on days such as this, where every sound feels like needles in my ears. Every question someone asks me, or request someone makes has me searching for cotton to perhaps shut out all the dribble that continues to fall from the mouths of everyone around me. Especially my son, poor kid. God knows he’s going to be reading someone this blog on a leather sofa when he’s older. He will, however, be especially understanding of his wife’s mood swings.
I’ve seen a spectrum of things this week and have come to the conclusion that we, as a society, are never truly happy. Someone whose life was worse than mine looks at me and thinks wow, if I only had what she has, I’d be happy. I look at others and think wow, if I only had what they have, I would be happy. But none of us are. I’ve always said that money could indeed buy you happiness and shame on the lazy bum who said otherwise but, rich people aren’t happy either. Are there times when I think I’m happy? Of course. Reading a good book, taking a hot bath, writing, eating white chocolate, when my son acts normal, good booty from my honey…yes. I feel I am happy at these times but it never lasts. Why? Why can’t I just be content and not let people/things bother me? If I lived in a bubble, and only allowed access to a select few, things would perhaps take a turn for the better. If I knew my debt card would never get declined in the pharmacy line at Walgreens (oh yea. Good times.) again, that might put a little bounce in my step.
I need a serious attitude adjustment. About everything. I need some new perspective and some time to think. I’m going to NYC next week for work. Perhaps that will be a good time.
Hey, you, movie producer! Make a movie out of my books so I can stay home all day and write. You may very well save my life. Please and thank you. (they would be a great movie.)