“Congratulations! It’s a healthy Happy!” The doctor smiles and hands the
newborn child to the smiling mother who embraces him in her arms. She’s
surrounded by warm-loving family members and I peek my head into the next room.
“Oh dear. Well, it looks like it’s a Sad.” The doctor plops the newborn
child into the fragile arms of the distraught mother who is at a loss for
words. After hearing the news, her family members leave to go watch the parade
of minivans forming in the parking lot.
Unfortunately, not everyone in this
world is lucky enough to be one of the Happy ones. I swim in the chilly ocean
and interact with the waves. Just as I think I’ve befriended a wave and start
to plan future events with it, it decides to reach the shore and dissipate into
nothingness. Our future is determined by our actions in the present. I relate a
lot with waves. I see them as ordinary humans with failings that are designed
to die at some point with the only difference being our flesh has been coded in
a different manner. I exit the glacial milk and wipe its nourishing froth off
my body with a towel I found. The towel’s impact on my body becomes useless
like lab rats vomiting cheese. Impact is a meaningless word. I wave goodbye to
the herd of waves and proceed to visit my old friend Machiavelli, who lacks the
germ of happiness.
I enter his home and find him
eating tomatoes as if they were candy. The television is on and is projecting a
documentary about how the incarceration of Sad people is on the rise. The
problem is that disrespect leads to hatred which leads to crime but maybe I
just have a warped perception of this epidemic. I say hi to Machiavelli and he acknowledges
my existence. He’s a retired sociopath that spends most of his days now petting
shadows. He sighs, “How do you happy?” I glumly tell him I don’t know. He tells
me that maybe telling himself that he’s happy enough times will eventually
convince his chromosomes to secrete joy. Repetition makes for believability but
I don’t agree with his blind science. A Sad’s body isn’t adapted to an
artificial ingestion of happiness. I bring up a mutual friend named Chet and
how he died last month from an overdose of bliss residue. The possession, use, or buying of artificial happiness is illegal. The conversation is
getting arid so I wave goodbye to Machiavelli and proceed to get something to
eat.
I walk up to the drive-thru of
Lawrence Livermore Labs and order my usual, Combo #3. It’s a burger with lead
mixed into the beef, medium fries, and lemonade that’s been garnished with
butter. I pay for my meal and sit on a bookshelf that’s been converted into a
table. I 187 the contents of the bag and listen to the niche in my stomach
conduct a symphony of bleach. Consistent as applesauce. I feel comfortable now
but comfort makes people bored, not happy. Eating at Lawrence Livermore Labs is
a legal way to break the law. False memories siege my conscious and I hold my
breath through the onslaught of foreign ideology. The lead robs me of my senses
and I’m no longer able to depend on them. I demand a lunatic! I read between
the lines of a cracked book but there’s nothing there… there shouldn’t be
anything there. The possession, use, or buying of sadness is also illegal. The life of a Sad is that of someone who types their life’s
work but accidently misplaces their fingers one key to the right. jpe fp upi
js[[uz
A weird confluence of events
unravel to the left of me as I look right. An alkaline Happy woman is in a war
of words with a product of the 1990’s. There’s a violent shift in tone when I begin
to question my psychological inspirations. The cartoon female gets lost in
translation as I repress her hostile posture and lose recollection of the last
4 seconds. The complexity of the situation needs time we don’t have to fully
delve into it. She sighs, “How do you happy?” I glumly tell her I don’t know.
How do you happy? It shows where human priorities are. There’s nothing more
relentless than the pounding waves of human desire. The need to be happy is the
irony and tragedy of our time. I neglected to mention that I’m a Happy. But why
am I not happy?
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