Happiness is...

After my birthday, a friend wrote and said it was good to finally see you happy.

That struck me. I thought I had had moments of happy.

Talking with another friend, I told him what was said. The second friend said, you haven't been happy. You've been funny. There is a difference.

I guess he is right. The problem is, when I am funny, I think I am happy, because mostly all I want to do is make people laugh. And in a way, I am a little happy when I make people laugh. Why do you think my friend said it was good to see me happy on my birthday? I had just come out of a great show, where we made people laugh.

I thought about that yesterday. Whatever happiness I had on my birthday, a mere six days ago, is gone. While with my therapist yesterday, I had the feeling of disconnect again. I literally felt like a balloon, wanting to rise and float away. My head seemed to me to bob on a string and I couldn't seem to keep it from floating to the left and right. I remember thinking I should pay attention to what she was saying, but I was having a hard time just paying attention to keeping my feet on the floor, because if I didn't do that, they would rise, and I would start to float, right there in the room. There is nothing more rude than to float on someone while they are saying something important.

When I got back home, I read in Time mag again. I thought news might ground me. The cover story is a book exerpt from Dr. Andrew Weil. If you don't know his name, you probably would recognize his face. He is a huge proponent of natural living and is seen on all sorts of guru products. He is bald with a giant fluffy white beard. Sort of like Santa on mesculin.

In his book, he is talking about aging properly. He just turned 60, and he is struck by how good he looks compared to some others his age. I got news for you Andy, you don't look that good. Maybe healthy, sure, but style? Bitch, you ain't got it.

Anyway, most of the things he said to do, I used to do. X and I used to be very healthy. I actually enjoyed that. When we split, MM asked me if I was glad to not be eating sticks now. No, actually, I was glad when I was eating them. Sometimes, I wanted a burger instead, but I knew that what I was eating was much better for me, and that felt good.

These days, I eat the burger.

I am not much of a cook. So, my diet for about the last year, starting even while X and I were together, but she was too busy at school, has been mostly restaurant food, or prepackaged TJ's food. Occasionally, I make pasta or stir-fry, but not often.

After reading Dr. Weil, I became very sad. I miss that homestyle life. I miss the cooking, and the leftovers, and the loved one curled up in a blanket on the couch, and falling asleep in front of the TV. That suburban ideal of life at home.

Driving to work, I put in Beck's break up ablum, the one before last, and cried on the whole drive to work. I felt much better afterwards, but I did realize I am not happy.

Then last night I was struck with another awful thought. If I think that all of those things that I described, and a lot of what I have written about here, is what will make me happy, I am in trouble. Mostly because, all of those things rely on someone else. Which would make my happiness rely on someone else. That is a sure way to ruin a relationship, by making the other responsible for your happiness. They either won't be up to the task, and you'll hate them, or they will suffocate under the pressure.

So, I am fucked. I have to provide my own happiness. What the hell will it take to find that? I moved to LA to provide it for myself, but no, not happy. I got involved with shows to provide it, but only happy right after the show. Does that mean I need to perform every night, just to be happy? Maybe?

Ok, I'll go with that one. Perform every night. Audience laughs every night. My happiness every night is in direct correlation with the audience's enjoyment of my talent.

Again, I am so fucked.