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| The heart with a mind of its own.(Be present.) | The mind with a heart of its own.(It's past.) | The dream that is your waking life.(Go there now.) | |||
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A Short List Of Things That Make Me Happy
Die Happy I'm talking to Sophistica about normal people. I spent a lot of my early-mid 20's wondering what it was that makes normal people normal and thinking that there must be some way for me to get normal too. Sophistica assures me that it has to do with chewing--The Brain chewing tendencies, I mean. She has been doing field research amongst normal people for the last two years and has some insight into the situation. "They have a very short list of things that make them happy," she tells me. Abnormal people don't, as we all know, expect to be happy. We don't even recognize happiness as a tangible thing, as a goal that can be achieved via the acquisition of things or qualities or characteristics. We abnormals try the drugs, the happy drugs, the Paxil, the Zoloft, the Xanax, the Prozac, and it numbs us into some semblance of normalcy and leaves only a small part of The Brain alive and wondering if this drugged numbness is equivalent to happiness--or even if it is happiness itself, this dulled state of being. I have recently been to Wal-mart and ask Sophistica if that's what happiness is, all those people who look at Winnie The Pooh sweatshirts and think, I want one of those. And this is when she makes the comments about happiness and the short list of things. The short list of things must include Winnie The Pooh sweatshirts, I think. And, God help me, I want to make her swear to shoot me if she ever sees me wearing a Winnie The Pooh sweatshirt, or contemplating wearing a Winnie The Pooh sweatshirt, or eyeing with anything but utter contempt anyone wearing a Winnie The Pooh sweatshirt. I don't understand, even with the small amount of wisdom that accompanies the aging process, what it is that allows some people to go through life normal, happy. I Shop, Therefore I Am I bought a jacket yesterday and a pair of pants and a new balaclava, as my old, black, non-shedding balaclava has gone off to have its own adventures sans me and somewhere else. I bought another set of thermal underwear and toothpaste. I bought Max a fuzzy. I bought some diet Sunkist soda and a Kashi Go Lean Karma Krunch bar. I did not buy--or even contemplate buying--a Winnie The Pooh sweatshirt. Demon Returns The demons have returned. Four of them so far: Online Dating Demons, May '86'd, The Demon Who Overtakes The Buddha On The Road, The Adipose Demon (Sleeping Giants). It's that time of year. Demons or therapy, my dears. Demons or therapy. And I can't afford therapy.
More lies:
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