happiness and that perfect person

i silently draw my finger right through the middle of the blanket. cold winds make the noise of the gentle swish swish. my ice cold feet try to find a cozy fold in the blanket. not finding any, i pull them out of the blanket and stand on the naked floor, seemingly colder than my feet. the extra clothing that i have piled on provides me no warm comfort. i go out into the hall and sit on the couch. suddenly, i wish i hadn't opted for cane while choosing the piece of furniture. staring at the blank, black television, i weigh the options i have. either i could switch on the television and watch some mindless nonsense or i could read the jeffrey archer i picked up last weekend. i do neither, as usual. the walk to the kitchen seems to take forever. i throw open the refrigerator, only to find leftovers of the weeks gone by. nothing even remotely edible. gah! shouldn't have skipped dinner earlier today, i think to myself. a thought completely in vain, as there will be more evenings when i will relentlessly skip dinner. i paw at the various things in the shelf. finding some old chips, i settle for a midnight snack of chips and coke. i fall back into my uncomfortable couch and this time stare at the white wall directly in front of me. my wandering mind takes me back to earlier that afternoon, when i sat with my friend and discussed happiness, the insane mythologies written long before us and about being a perfect person. everyone wants to be perfect. if they can't be, they want their spouses to be. if their spouses cannot fulfill this condition, then they push their kids to be perfect. but, who is perfect? wish i could jump and say, me! but, no i cannot. simply because i am the exact opposite of perfect. sympathies go out to my parents and my husband to be. but, that is not what i am discussing here. here?yes, here, in my head with myself whilst seated on a cane couch, staring at a white wall, with coke and chips in my hand at two in the morning. oh my God. i should shoot myself.effing stupid sleep. just keeps eluding me. forcing me to have these late night talks with myself. now, i am sitting here, writing this, with MTV playing on the television. why do they play indi rap late at night? shouldn't they play romantic songs? i mean, its only lovers who stay up late at night. right? but, i am no lover. no, i am not. there are these insane ideas i have in my head about things in general. which side of the bed to get off from, which cup to drink my morning tea in and what to do while i am waiting at the doctor's (which would be counting the tiles on the floor). i jump off the couch and wake my dog up. he looks up at me with big, sleepy, pleading eyes. i pay no attention to his wordless request and drag him out of the house and into the bitter cold night for a walk. a walk that i need more than he does. poor fellow. he comes with me anyhow, not wanting to waste time trying to convince me to leave him in his cozy little bed. apparently its easier to just comply. gosh, i am a difficult person to live with. God knows why the dog puts up with me. look at me, referring to him as 'dog' and not even providing his name. i come back into the house and he runs back to bed. i take a walk around my not so large apartment and settle in front of the television yet again. this time watching a re-run of friends. falling asleep with the television still on, i lose track of time, space and my thoughts. the insistent ringing of the doorbell wakes me up from deep slumber. dragging myself out of the couch, i open the door with my eyes half shut. the milkman wants his money. oh, well, wish i could go ringing a few doorbells for money. i ask him to come later in the day as i don't even know what the meaning of the word money is right now. he looks at me as if i am crazy and tautly informs me that is seven in the morning and the entire world is up. sure! i believe that! i thank him and slam the door only to realise that i better get ready to head to work. thoughts of the night before are safely buried into the depths of my mind, while the daily madness of a normal day kicks in. my car refuses to start because the engine has a cold. the traffic signal takes too long to turn green and i am graciously late for work. my boss doesn't look to happy. do i look happy to him?what is happiness? fame? money? power? success?no, happiness is simply the absence of unhappiness. to be happy, one just has to try and not be unhappy. simple.