On Happiness. in Whey and Sonic Screwdrivers.

Or HA, PENIS! If you prefer.

I was going to write an entry on alcoholism and depression, but as I was prewriting in my head, the preface of the types of happiness seemed to be a bit long-winded for a simple preface.

I’d say there are at least four types of portrayed happiness. Let’s see where this goes.

“Normal” happiness: You see your favorite hockey team won a game. Cool. You’re happy. This is not to be confused with your favorite hockey team winning the Stanley Cup - that is a level above. You get in your car and a nice song comes on the radio. Happiness. Simple. Getting A NEW CAR on the Price is Right? A bit more … exuberant. Regular happiness is like being the Fonz. Just be cool. This generally does not get noticed unless you wear leather and say “Aaaaaayyyyeeee” a lot.

The next two I’m finding hard to give a headline to. So. Roll with it.

Manic happiness: Someone who seems happy all the time. No matter what. And when things don’t go her way, she flips and takes it out on others.

Depressive happiness: Example time. I once worked with this woman. When she was hired, I overheard her say to my boss, “Customer service is my life!” Oh, she was good at her job. I liked her. Always pleasant. Yet, somehow felt forced. It was a Sunday after Thanksgiving. I was manager in charge. Cop came in asking if she worked there. After verifying, I was told me she had committed suicide.

It is true that if a super depressed person seems unusually calm and relaxed, it means they have accepted their fate and decided to end themselves. Because she WAS calmer and more relaxed that Wednesday before Thanksgiving.

Her name was René.

Plastic Flowers: I coined this term a few years ago while writing a Nanonovel. It is amazing what kind of random chaotic brilliance can happen. I forget whether it was “She smelled like plastic flowers” or “Her voice sounded like plastic flowers”. Probably the later.

With that sentence, do I even need to explain?

This… calming sing-song to their voice. Always trying to be nice. Oh, never manic. So calm and cheerful. And yet, something seems off. Something feels fake. This is not to be confused with Retail Voice. My dad’s girlfriend. Everything about her feels plastic. Ugh. It’s difficult to contrast her and my MIL. One is an elite northerner. The other is white trash trying to make ends meet.

Huh. Never thought I’d favor my MIL. While I know she doesn’t like me much, she fronts. Okay. Hrm. MIL has cried in front of me talking about the death of her son. Dad’s g/f? Scolded me in an airport for not appreciating my dad.

Huh.

I didn’t start writing to have a point, just to babble so I can maybe eventually get to meatier things.