Bitch Tits

No one sits awake at 3 am by themselves and thinks, "God, am I happy."

I'm starting to think that's a part of it. This difference between the way these states of happiness and (for lack of a better term) depression are experienced. Almost as if one extreme is the result of a perspective you force on things versus the other being a camera over your shoulder that you don't see and aren't concerned with.

Happiness is collective. It's a personal feeling, and it's something only you can control -- but I do think more often than not it comes as a reflection of the mirrors of people around you. Of how easily the small talk turns into hanging out, or the one bar turns into "hey, we're headed to this other spot -- you should tag along."

Happy people glow. They resonate. Sending out vibrations that other people pick up on and want to get closer to. But more importantly -- you don't have to declare happiness, or activate it. Happiness is a result. It's an emotional reaction to an atmosphere that you foster around yourself. It's not something you medicate to regain any sort of hormonal balance. Not that super happy people aren't chemically unbalanced, because they are -- except that it's awesome.

And let's be clear about something here: Chemical unbalance gets a bad rap. There are two kinds, and only one of them is bad. It's like metabolism speeds and being fat. Balance isn't the goal if you want to win. Balance is only good if you want to stop the backslide.

What you want is unbalance in the other direction.

What you need is to tilt the floor the other way. To lose your footing and literally fall into good things.

People don't give you advice on how to break out of your happiness. No one ever says, "I couldn't help but notice that you've been really happy lately, and I just wanted you to know that I've been there, but it doesn't last forever. It will get worse."

Happiness grows. It evolves outward. It's like bringing a big bowl of popcorn to a room where people are watching TV -- that aroma spreads quickly, and everybody looks up.

I don't know, maybe that isn't a perfect metaphor -- because I don't really like popcorn. But I do understand the appeal of that butter/salt smell that comes in easily shared handfuls. Popcorn guy smells good, and people  enjoy being around him. That's where conversations flower up from. That's where connections get made.

I've been that guy before, and eventually I'll find a way back to being him again. But the bizzare broken mirror of it in my present right now is that I know that's where I need to get -- so it seems all too easy to just make some popcorn and try to fake it, despite the fact that I don't like the taste of it, and I don't really have anyone to share it with.

And that in itself, perhaps more than anything else -- is probably why I can't seem to just shake this off.

This isn't just the blahs, or even the blues. There's something deeper here -- and I'm going to have to find a way to burn it away if I ever want to get back to the right side of myself again.

I'm more like oatmeal guy right now. Who the hell wants to share a handful of that? 

[Now Playing:  Deftones - "Tempest" ]