Degrees of Happiness?

August 26, 2004

It’s hard for me to say I am happy with my life, and just as hard to say I am not. I suppose I am happy with certain aspects of my life, and unhappy with other aspects.

Financially I am comfortable — not rich by any means, and far deeper in debt than I would like, but I am hardly suffering for anything and I’m paying my bills. I have a decent paying job with a good deal of time off, and though I sometimes stress I don’t plan on leaving it voluntarily for a while. And should I have to, I know I can fall back on kayleigh’s income temporarily (not that I would want to, but it could be a temporary emergency buffer).

I know some of my unhappiness concerns fulfillment in my life. I don’t write any more. I sit down, and go blank, totally blank. I haven’t had a good idea in seeming years, and I certainly haven’t sustained a lengthy period of writing on one piece in a long, long time. It’s depressing. Even rewriting the old stuff isn’t fun. I read far more than I write and I waste a great amount of time being a techno-geek, playing with new software, new toys, browsing the net and chatting, than writing.

Of course there is also the relationship situation, the triad of women I am involved with in varying degrees. This too is a mixture of pleasure and pain. They all love me and I them in my sometimes curious fashion. And while it feeds the ego to be loved, it does get hard to compartmentize most things, and especially when I have to hide those things which make me most happy.

I hate lying, and yet a good part of my life revolves around lies.

It would be so much easier if secrets didn’t have to be maintained, doors open and shut, and sealed boxes placed into the closet.

It would be so much easier if one didn’t have to hide their unhappiness, or worse, and harder to hide, their happiness.

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