Author Topic: Joy  (Read 43 times)


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« on: January 11, 2020, 01:59:01 AM »
   I like the quiet mornings, with the sounds of the radiator and the percolator as my only companions. I like to stare out the front window at the rows of houses across the street; the neighborhood folk strutting sadly down the sidewalk to the dollar store or the 7 Eleven. I want to imagine their happiness underneath their hoods. But their faces are covered and I get the idea; no one likes to hide their joy.
   No one likes to hide their misery either. Take me, years back, following a painful breakup. Picture the dark bars my friends dragged me out to, with the loud banter and smell of spilled PBR and whiskey. There I am, sipping a little rapidly, ranting to the girl with the apathetic face. Im talking about hopelessness and shes trying to find someone else to talk to. Now she rolls her eyes. She cant take this anymore. She says, Oh man, Alex, I am so sick of hearing you talk about how terrible everything is. If you want to change, do something about it.
   I gotta admit, I was a little shocked by this bullseye bit of truth. I felt a little betrayed by my friend, who was always a little glum herself. But I needed to hear it, and soon after the hangover that night, and the hangover the next night, and the hangover that lasted the next 18 months or so, I woke up clear headed and ready to take my joy back.


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