My definition of happiness is as fleeting as the moment itself, but it finds some use when it is required most; when the wheels and gears and rotors and pistons are on the verge of breakdown and the maintenance guy has been slacking off on his job. From an umbrella that opens up into a newspaper to the room stinking of cigarettes and alcohol from the night before, and the day ahead, everything moulds itself into a tool to recompose yourself - to put on that helmet of alacrity and charge ahead like there is an army that needs to be defeated in waves, and you are the Hero, the Chosen One, the Messiah.
You are Player One.
If an index of happiness were to be prepared over the years, I do not know when there was that slight shift in preferences in my brain when smaller pieces of happiness were superseded by the overarching plot of the pointlessness of it all. It is not desperation that speaks but an undercurrent of being jaded - of seeing a minuscule portion of life in all its glory and extrapolating it to everything else with astonishing accuracy. In this exercise to balance everything out, keep everything ordered, make the outside as clean as the inside was unclean, the happinesses and the sadnesses were evened out with the extrapolations of "oh you know, it's not really that bad, is it?" and so on. It had not occurred to me that in my eagerness to please Temperance, I was slowly killing a vital part of me - of where I connected the thoughts and feelings into writing. In my haste to treat all writing that did not have a story as "angsty stuff", I had been taking a scalpel to the brain tissue.
But a string of recent events have restored some lives and added a couple of red hearts to the top right hand corner of my life, as I see it. Keeping a journal, getting an unexpected offer, a long night of excellent conversations and the subsequent morning full of a year's worth of catching up. While the hellos and goodbyes stirred up the well of feeling as a force worth its weight in rhodium, there was that subtle need and cry for being whole again.
We do try to find solace in our little lies.