In which I fail at happiness…and try not to panic

Forgive me, Gods of Self Control and Writing, for my sin of not writing for days. And also for eating McDonald’s meals daily instead of dieting like I should be. And for saying that some babies are better off as sperms. And for that one thing that I cannot mention online but we both know it was me who did…well, at least we both know it now. And for waking the whole family up last night by playing the keyboard badly in the middle of the night. And for laughing at videos on Youtube about people who walks into walls/fall down unceremoniously.

I’m not a very nice person, but hey! at least I’m…good at stuffing my face with fries. And dropping bits and pieces of my meals on my skirts. I think that should count as an accomplishment, no? Anyhoo, GOSCAWs, I just wanted to say I’m so sick and tired of this:

If you can’t tell, these are HAPPINESS PHOTOS.

Yes. I Googled happiness images and I got a shit load of these:

WHAT. THE. HELL?

I am unhappy about happiness photos, because they always:

1. Feature pretty blonde people in the middle of some fucking field with their fucking hands in the fucking air.
2. People jumping with stupid grins on their faces
3. People jumping with other people with stupid grins on their faces
4. More pretty blondes
5. More fields, and grass, and blue skies, and the sea, and fucking balloons

It’s as though to be happy, we need to be in some stupid grassy area with ants crawling up our legs and birds pooping all over our shirts. And the balloons. Don’t even get me started on the balloons. How the hell do people manage to drive miles and miles with fucking helium balloons bouncing in the car with them and not crash into a tree? Seriously. I don’t want to look for Happiness and have the internet show me photos of perfect people doing perfect shits. Why can’t couch potatos have fun? Why can’t gamers have fun? Why can’t people who hasn’t eaten anything but fast food in the last two days have fun? I mean, sometimes I feel sorta just little happy when I’m reading a book and I don’t see a photo of a book being fucking labelled happiness.

THIS is what I think happiness photos should be:

Alright, so most the photos have fat cats on couches/people doing weird things, but guess what? PEOPLE ARE WEIRD. We’re all really weird in our ways, and our happiness shouldn’t be stereotyped with what others think happiness should be. I’m not saying you can’t be happy being skinny or in a field or be perfect. You can. But that if you’re happy sleeping around (on couches) and eating fried food, then it should be okay too, right? Right.

Okay, I’ve gotten it off my chest now. GOSCAWs you may send me to writers’ jail for all my mean sins. I hope they serve 2 piece chicken over there.

Xoxo,

E