Do You Really Want It?
If you haven't yet, go ahead and read the Blog Entry on the Pub Crawl. It's the previous entry. I'll just hang out here till you're ready.
Read it? Okay, cool. Yeah, I know, I'm a pretty lame guy. Let's move on.
While we were out on the town, we met a fella from Cleveland, OH. Now, my first reaction when I meet a guy from Cleveland hanging in the Elks in Flora (drunk off his ass to the point where he's telling his life story to total strangers) is, how does a guy from Cleveland end up living in Flora? The answer, of course, was that he was engaged to a chick from Fairfield (about 20 miles S of Flora). They had met in the Air Force, got engaged, and now she was back home getting a degree in nursing while he worked as a welder (or something like that). The dude was bored. He asked us if we knew where he could score some weed, not knowing that we were the absolute last people to know where that sorta stuff was. Bro tried to tell him that the key to surviving in a small town was that you had to be willing to travel to find the things you want, but of course Bro was refering to more esoteric things that Metal concerts and Foreign Films, not cannabis.
In another bar, we met another Drunken Fellow who virtually worshipped Bro and Fitch. Apparently, at one time, this guy had long hair and a beard (just like Brutha Buzz and Fitchy do now), but to get a job he had been "forced" to shave it all off. "I sold out, and all you pussies with short hair, you're sell outs too!" A Drunken Fitch tried to explain that I've been shaving my head for as long as he's known me, but Drunk Guy wrote me off as a sell out regardless. The point no one tried to make, was that, apparently, being employed and providing for his family(?) was more important than a few strands of hair.
Which brings me to my point. Every day there's lots of people doing exactly what they want. They go out, they party, they have one night stands, whatever, right? And yet, everyone's so damn disatisfied. Why? If you're not happy, do something that will make you happy. It's not rocket science. (And for the record, climbing into a bell tower and gunning people down won't make you happy. Hell, while we're on the subject, suddenly becoming a millionaire will probably not make you near as happy as you would think it would either.) I whined and complained for years about my unhappiness. Then one day, I did something about it. I make comics. I live in the middle of nowhere, and I make comics. If I wanna watch a movie bad enough, I get in my little station wagon, and I drive two hours to watch it. Do I still get down every now and then? Course I do, I'm human, and a pretty moody one at that. But I tell you one thing, you won't catch my ass drunk in a bar on a Saturday night whining to whatever poor schmuck will listen to me about how I'm so bored or how my life was better when my hair was longer.
Read it? Okay, cool. Yeah, I know, I'm a pretty lame guy. Let's move on.
While we were out on the town, we met a fella from Cleveland, OH. Now, my first reaction when I meet a guy from Cleveland hanging in the Elks in Flora (drunk off his ass to the point where he's telling his life story to total strangers) is, how does a guy from Cleveland end up living in Flora? The answer, of course, was that he was engaged to a chick from Fairfield (about 20 miles S of Flora). They had met in the Air Force, got engaged, and now she was back home getting a degree in nursing while he worked as a welder (or something like that). The dude was bored. He asked us if we knew where he could score some weed, not knowing that we were the absolute last people to know where that sorta stuff was. Bro tried to tell him that the key to surviving in a small town was that you had to be willing to travel to find the things you want, but of course Bro was refering to more esoteric things that Metal concerts and Foreign Films, not cannabis.
In another bar, we met another Drunken Fellow who virtually worshipped Bro and Fitch. Apparently, at one time, this guy had long hair and a beard (just like Brutha Buzz and Fitchy do now), but to get a job he had been "forced" to shave it all off. "I sold out, and all you pussies with short hair, you're sell outs too!" A Drunken Fitch tried to explain that I've been shaving my head for as long as he's known me, but Drunk Guy wrote me off as a sell out regardless. The point no one tried to make, was that, apparently, being employed and providing for his family(?) was more important than a few strands of hair.
Which brings me to my point. Every day there's lots of people doing exactly what they want. They go out, they party, they have one night stands, whatever, right? And yet, everyone's so damn disatisfied. Why? If you're not happy, do something that will make you happy. It's not rocket science. (And for the record, climbing into a bell tower and gunning people down won't make you happy. Hell, while we're on the subject, suddenly becoming a millionaire will probably not make you near as happy as you would think it would either.) I whined and complained for years about my unhappiness. Then one day, I did something about it. I make comics. I live in the middle of nowhere, and I make comics. If I wanna watch a movie bad enough, I get in my little station wagon, and I drive two hours to watch it. Do I still get down every now and then? Course I do, I'm human, and a pretty moody one at that. But I tell you one thing, you won't catch my ass drunk in a bar on a Saturday night whining to whatever poor schmuck will listen to me about how I'm so bored or how my life was better when my hair was longer.
2 Comments:
It's easier to be sad. All sad takes is whining about shit. Happy requires some effort on your part (like spending your last free cent publishing your own comic or getting up 4 hours early to work on 3rd party D&D supplements). My theory is convenience breeds depression. My food can arrive in 4.2 minutes, why can't my happiness?
Well said as usual, Joe.
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