Nothing inside me seems to find any reason to not be happy for you. I am. But then I’m not. There are two different sides of happiness in me; there is the legitimate one where I get so excited to hear everything about this road in your life that talking about every day. I give you my huge hug, filled with all the love that I have inside me. I make my little sarcastic comments on all of your pictures that I see.
Then there is the other happiness that does not want to come out. The one, that deep down inside, just has me put on my fake smile and stare at the wall when parents tell the stories about what their child has accomplished, what number grandchild this now is, what new promotion is now in effect, or what golden road of opportunity has opened up for their overzealous super child . My bones and muscles begin to ache with the side of this happiness that overwhelms me.
It just makes me add to my list of what I need to accomplish in life. Happiness is one of them. The average age that a man and woman get married is 29 and 27. By age 25 is when a woman would have a child, on average. I am 30, never have I been in a relationship and I am unemployed living with my parents. So I suppose I am allowed to have my unhappy days, on occasion. I do have my sunshine around me. I tend to look on the downsides of them, though.
I am always told to press on, look on the brighter side I hear is in this life of ours. I try. If I am able to get out of my bed, put my pants on one day after the other, then this means that I want to continue to move on, even if I look on the darker side of the sun. The moon, I will call it. I keep my eyes on the moony side of life. If Mr. Armstrong can walk on the moon, and no person has set foot on this sun of ours, than it appears the moon is that one rock in my life that I should be looking at. The good, the bad, the mad, the sad, my happiness is buried somewhere inside me. She does come out from time to time. But just because she’s not always on my face, I’m still always pressing on.
I press on only when I see what I have added to my list. If my “List of Life” does not grow, then I know there is no reason to redevelop. Yet, since I do continue to add what I need to do, then I need to get off my ass and go. As cute as they are, with all of their grey fur and big, fuzzy white ears, I am not a koala. 22 hours is far too much sleep for me.