There's something exceptionally comforting in moments that make you realize how many friends you have. One of the moments happened last night. Wednesday never sleeps on Augusta. You'd swear it was Friday, were it not for the lack of cackling girls walking the streets dressed in Cheap Fcuk garb.
Hamilton is known for its great music scene. There's never a dull night, never an empty patio, and never a quiet moment when the weather hits California Nice. An entire pub-infested street is lined with different genres of song, each performed by band buds I haven't seen in a long time. Consequently, they come with band fans I haven't caught up with in a while, too.
"Last time I saw you your wife was still pregnant!"
"Crazy. My daughter's 2 now! My son is 4!"
"Wait, you have two kids?"
Since I'm still in the process of finding self-happiness, I didn't drink my face off. Drinking masks hurt temporarily, but the pain is back the next morning along with a familiar hangover. No, the best way to go about getting my real smile back is to do things one step at a time, but permanently. When I feel sparkly-good, I know it's because I really am, and not because I paid $5.65 for it. I'm not into emotions on a per-pint basis. Thanks to a list of people who are genuinely happy to see me, who have a knack for making me laugh, I feel more optimistic about journeying to my goal before I die.
This morning hurts a little, though, I won't lie. A tick of sadness hits me sometimes, like walking into fog, and just as unavoidable. I take a few minutes with the Blue; not forcing it out of my mind, but accepting that currently, it's a part of me. By accepting the sadness, giving it permission to affect me, I feel more in control. I can then kick it out of my mind after the wave passes, sans guilt.
I suggest you try seeing some live bands this summer. Drinking isn't drinking unless you sing along.
Hamilton is known for its great music scene. There's never a dull night, never an empty patio, and never a quiet moment when the weather hits California Nice. An entire pub-infested street is lined with different genres of song, each performed by band buds I haven't seen in a long time. Consequently, they come with band fans I haven't caught up with in a while, too.
"Last time I saw you your wife was still pregnant!"
"Crazy. My daughter's 2 now! My son is 4!"
"Wait, you have two kids?"
Since I'm still in the process of finding self-happiness, I didn't drink my face off. Drinking masks hurt temporarily, but the pain is back the next morning along with a familiar hangover. No, the best way to go about getting my real smile back is to do things one step at a time, but permanently. When I feel sparkly-good, I know it's because I really am, and not because I paid $5.65 for it. I'm not into emotions on a per-pint basis. Thanks to a list of people who are genuinely happy to see me, who have a knack for making me laugh, I feel more optimistic about journeying to my goal before I die.
This morning hurts a little, though, I won't lie. A tick of sadness hits me sometimes, like walking into fog, and just as unavoidable. I take a few minutes with the Blue; not forcing it out of my mind, but accepting that currently, it's a part of me. By accepting the sadness, giving it permission to affect me, I feel more in control. I can then kick it out of my mind after the wave passes, sans guilt.
I suggest you try seeing some live bands this summer. Drinking isn't drinking unless you sing along.
2 comments:
Sadness shmadness.
lol...that's a good theory, too, I suppose ;)
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