Happiness is Just Around The Bend

Am I happy?
Someone asked me that a couple of days ago and I had to stop and think.
What is happy? Is it the same as content? I guess you can be content without being happy. Not sure you can be happy without contentment.
I have being chasing money for the last 12 years now, working my way through this sales job and that sales job only to find I'm not as good of a salesman as I thought.
I can lead a team to greatness though.
Maybe the old saying..."those who can, do and those who can't, teach... but I don't believe that either.
Growing up as the adult child of an alcoholic, we're not quite sure what happiness is and when we find it, we're so shocked, we start planning to get rid of the happiness.
We're not comfortable there, we have NO business being happy, we're not worthy of it.
After splitting with my wife of 28 years, I stumbled around the wilderness. Going from this job to that one, trying to find peace through the pursuit of money.
That pursuit somehow led me to Morris Illinois. A fine midwest town far enough away from Chicago, but yet close enough to touch it.
I worked (and made a good living) for people who wanted to know what I did every minute (no, make that second) of the day.
If my day was not filled out to the inth degree, I got a call from the owner.
I worked for one of the soulless, heartless people I have ever seen. My job was to hire, train and mentor new sales people. In the four months I was there we didn't hire anyone, due to the reluctance of the owner to bring anyone new on.
I was sold a bill of goods.
When I got there, the line was..."well, we will hire someone, but we want you go out and get new business during the meantime."
What? A long haired stranger was going to go out and get new business from people in a small town that he's never met? Seriously?
I told them how I thought that was going to play out. I went about doing my work and found that, yes, people really don't want to do business from someone they don't know. As time went on, I got very depressed.
I was fucked here. I knew it and so did they.
It came to a head on the 70th anniversary of my brother's birth. It was raining and nasty and, in an attempt to be "transparent" (their favorite word), I said something to my boss about it being a bad day, but I was sure I could find people to see.
Fifteen minutes later the owner and his son texted me that they were heading to Morris and would like to talk to me.
Twenty minutes later, I texted Tess and told her I thought I was going to be fired.
"No way", she said, "why?"
It was a true premonition.
Under the guise of "this isn't a good fit", I was relieved of my duties.
99% of the time, I am a professional who doesn't burn bridges. Not this time.
I told them exactly what I thought of them and their business practices.
That weekend Tess and I did fun things.
We visited my kids and grandkids in the Quad Cities, we spent a day in Chicago, going to the museum, getting Chicago pizza, going to a dive bar (a story from that is coming soon), meeting great people in the bar, then going to see Fleetwood Mac. On Sunday, we spent most of the day at Starved Rock State Park, just getting out boots muddy.
She saved the weekend.
In the meantime, an old friend reached out to me and asked if I was happy.
Certainly not.
In one serendipitous email, my life changed dramatically.
He offered me a chance to run a 100,000 watt radio station halfway between KC and Columbia. I had known about Power 97 since my good friend the late Ken Dillon did mornings there 20 years ago.
Under one condition he said.
"I need you here by Monday"
Wait a minute, it was Monday. He wants me there in a week? I have a three bedroom house to pack up and move. "I'll throw in some help money wise if you can do it."
So, on Tuesday I drove to Sedalia, and found a place.
On Wednesday and Thursday I packed the house. On Friday, I loaded the truck (by myself), on Saturday, the cat and I hopped into the front seat, drove 382 miles, and arrived in just enough time for me to unload just my bedding so I could sleep. News of an impending storm got me out of bed early and I unloaded the rest of the truck by noon.
Eureka!
What a challenge but I did it!
In Sedalia in less than a week.
The new job is incredible.
I have the complete trust of my owner to "fix" his station.
This is what I do, what I've been trained to do and I am now doing it for basically no money but maybe that was the problem all along. Instead of doing what I loved, I was distracted chasing change.
Am I happy?
I don't know, but this sure feels good. I have a place within five blocks of the station. I hardly ever drive my car and I'm at the station for about 10 hours a day, doing what I love.
Happy? Dunno, but I'll take it.

Spaceship Superstar

Here's one from the journal that I wrote really high one night....

I woke up on a dingy, urine stained mattress with dirty and crusty underwear thrown about the room. One thing went through my head over and over..."Lord, where am I?"
Relax and remember I told myself.
Finally, through the fog, it came to me. I was in the basement of one of the Krognar Palaces. Not very palatial, I'm thinking. This seemed to be the place where the universally famous Krognar sex games were held. They were so popular, there was a cable show about them.
Obviously an aftermath.
Dammit, if I had been two hours earlier. Where are the nubile young women and how did I get into this mess and who and...?
The Krognars were the self proclaimed rulers of the entire six known dimensions. They installed themselves in a bloodless coup not more than four hundred years ago, so they were pretty new at this. They bore an uncanny resemblance to a creature once known as a lobster. These cats were about seven feet tall with claws that could kill a man within seconds. They were also legendary across the universe for their well...how should I say their power and prowess under and between the sheets.
I know it's hard to believe but even I admired and respected their reputation...must have been a guy thing.
Now, I remember, I was crossing through their space at about three o'clock in the morning, sorry kids, drunk on my ass. There is a tolerance of about fourteen centimeters on either side of the portal, not much for my vehicle, which was a 2068 Chevy Malibu. I thought I could make it because at this time of night (or morning) they were usually sleeping. It was also a Saturday night and that's when the majority of the sex games are still rocking on (I told you about their prowess). If you gunned it at the right time across the celestial axis, you could be in the third dimension before the sentries knew what was going on.
Tonight, unfortunately, I was not that lucky.
I tried to outrun them through two dimensions. I blew a transducer and then it was just a matter of time before the jig was up, and indeed they tracked me down quickly. Crippled, by the side of Sirius, I was easy prey for the Krognar Gestapo. They demanded my ethereal notice, federation number and of course, the registration.
I was taught by my father to only relinquish my star and fighter squadron number, nothing prepared me for this.
"Ydnar Yelar, Ydnar, Yelar, Ydnar, Yelar!!!"
With that, all hell broke loose.
Without warning, I was surrounded by these ugly fucks speaking gibberish and spitting on each other. These stupid idiots then stopped and in unison, recited their national anthem "A White Sport Coat and A Pink Crustacean,"as it looked like some kind of ceremony was about to happen. This didn't really look good here. Here I was, in a place far far away and I had no idea what to do. To my surprise, all they did was haul me off to what their version of jail looked like and there is where I woke up.
The doors of my room sprung open with an ear spitting clang and suddenly, I was face to face with the most terrific creature I have ever seen. Seven feet three inches tall, built like I had only dreamed. And yes, I could also see why he was such a hit with the ladies. Even the old comic book pictures of Charles Atlas could NOT do this cat justice. I tried to make conversation about his work out routines, but he was having none of it. I DID find out his name was Larry.
Yes, Larry the Lobster, THAT Larry the lobster.
On that fateful Saturday night Eddie Murphy tried to kill him, and getting away somehow, he never forgot it. He's been pissed ever since. Turns out, he's the chief prosecutor. I didn't know whether to kneel in front of him, curse his very being or both.
"I am your biggest nightmare as I rule over the entire lemon wedge dimension You will wish you had never met me, infidel."
At that moment, he opened his trench coat and out fell a 2234 model AJ 447 flanger. Indeed, my opportunity to make my getaway, but alas, I was only familiar with the two button model and this had three.
The academy taught us over and over.."yellow and green, lose your spleen...green then yellow, live to be a happy fellow.. But I wasn't ready for "now there is blue with the other two.."
As he hesitated in shock, I reached for the flanger and yes, I pushed the blue button. It could not get any worse that his, I reasoned.
And with that, it did.
The skies opened up with the brilliance of a thousand white hot suns, like only something Moses could have witnessed.
All of a sudden, I was sucked through a vacuum of a hundred gravitational pulls, the rising and setting of those white hot suns all it once, I was pulled through a vortex of unknown physical properties, swallowed into a continuum right in time for my mom to wake me for school.