I find it weird, the concept of ‘a good day’. A good day for me might, if I’m lucky, involve me leaving the house. I define a good day as a day where I don’t have to go to work, but I shower anyway. There are stock brokers and computer nerds and sports stars and so on, who can make millions on a good day. There are people who invent stuff, or save lives, or make movies and shit like that every day.
Like, the best day I’ve had recently, involved leaving the house on a non-work day for more than the time it takes to get a coke and a microwaveable meal from the corner shop down the road. That’s, action packed to me. I mean, my treat of the month, might be going out to dinner or something, and there are people who can do things I’d never dream of, and refer to it as a normal day.
I guess the point I’m making is firstly, how weird is it that what I can qualify as a good day, is so irrelevant when weighed against what someone else can achieve, that to them, my ‘good day’ might seem like a fucking nightmare; maybe I’ll learn something new on guitar, or I’ll write a blog or I’ll go for a swim. That’s literally the best I can think of; but with 24 hours in a day, that is a lot of mind-numbing nothing in between.
My second point however, is am I as bored with my non-special days as someone with an exciting life would be with theirs? Would they be as disappointed with their day if they only earned half a million, or didn’t have time for third base jump, or only shot a couple of scenes for their new movie; as I would be if I yet again, didn’t get out of bed until three in the afternoon and didn’t put clothes on until six; or would they be like, “Well that kinda sucked, but my life is still fucking awesome.”
Nobody is happy with themselves, lol, so rock on, I think doing nothing rules.
I’ve always found it important to acknowledge good days, otherwise, one gets complacent. There was a time in my life where I was doing a solo rock show on a ship in the caribbean. I was good friends with a well-known UK soul star, who was also on the ship. We did this gig all the time,
every couple of weeks, flown out to Barbados, the whole deal. It became routine, as everything in fact can. But we would take the time to go up on deck, and just kind of ‘stop the clock’ for a moment and go: ‘THIS is an awesome gig.’ Even now, if I catch myself moaning about shit, (which happens a lot) I try to remember that ritual on the ship and think ‘my day is actually quite fucking good really’, you know, because I’m like, still alive at the end of it.
Aw Felix I feel sorry for you. Have you found love yet?
I’m sorry to hear of your woes…at least the zombies haven’t gotten you yet. Or the aliens.
Every day when I drive to work, I pass by the total shithole where I used to work. On the way home each evening, I look over at the shithole and ask myself, would I rather be back there? The answer had not been yes for the past eight years, so I guess I am pretty happy even on the boring and bad days.