Joy and Edgar Allen Poe

We are all still bumbling through lockdown, unable to do the things that makes us happy and fulfilled, hence the slightly odd nature of this weeks blog.

As I stagger from the unremittingness of working from home all week, and emerge blinking into the glory of the weekend, I, Dear Reader, have been considering the nature of joy.

Do you ever have those weeks when a particular word just continually crops up - there is a neurological state that means you notice stuff more when it pertains to you, (I do wish I could remember what the flipping word was...)

It’s called the reticular activation system.

Phew - Thanks Bec - that would have kept me awake!

For instance when you purchase a new car and all of a sudden you notice hundreds of the same cars all over the place. Everywhere. You wonder where they all came from? Have all these people rushed out and purchased the same colour and brand of car as you just to annoy you?

Well this week 'joy' was my verbal new car.

I'm not a particularly reflective type of person. If I need to 'muse' on something I tend to deal with it by drinking shit loads of Jack Daniels and expecting the answer to magically appear in the forefront of my mind. It usually does. It might not be a good answer, but when in dire straits any answer is better than the yawning black hole of indecision.

I find walking the dog to the top of the hill near our house works well for me. If I drank a shit load of Jack Daniels I would die.


Anyway, when I have had to suffer one of those tortuous self awareness things that you do at work (or if you are some sort of weird emotional masochist you do by choice) and they ask you to describe what gives you joy....what do you say?

I must be a masochist then.

Hopefully not what first springs to mind?

Because frankly some of the things that bring me joy are a bit rude. And possibly the subject for a future blog. Although its likely that those are springing to mind because it is now a year since anything of that joyous nature occurred in my life?

You have become nun-like in your habits.

I kid you not Mother Theresa looks like a bit of a slut in comparison.

In our Covid hampered times getting the fuck on with stuff and then being nagged into finding it joyous has become the norm.

Am I the only person in the world that thinks that this is fatuous?

Is there joy to be found when we are all hermetically sealed in our own houses with only the houseplants/gerbil/spouse/children/dog/cat/table/emu *delete as necessary* to interact with?

I was not feeling the joy last night. I was positively yearning for alone time in a Premier Inn somewhere near Skelmersdale. I love my family, but part of that love involves not being with them all the time. Ever patient husband was annoying me a lot last night, no idea why, he just was. Perhaps is was because he was breathing.

Skelmersdale? Even in my bleakest moments Skelmersdale doesnt feature as a destination

So I thought about how my loved ones display joy.

My Lovely Friend frequently states that hope is what keeps us going, my normal response goes along the lines of,

'Bollocks! It’s Jack Daniels that keeps me going.' which is an immutable truth.

(T ex Boyfriend Thing used to say that Honey Jack Daniels was akin to angels pissing on your tongue. Anyone pissing on my tongue would be an intimacy too far, but each to their own.)

Lovely Friend firmly hopes against all odds that The Love of His Life will come around and if today was a good day tomorrow can be even better. He definitely knocks my optimistic approach to life into a cocked hat. He finds joy in every situation he is in - I truly don't know how he manages it!

Beautiful Daughter believes that chocolate brownies are what make the world a better place and no day with chocolate brownies featuring heavily in it can be a bad day. And if today contained chocolate brownies tomorrow can too, hence it will be an utterly joyous day.

As a side note to this My Wonderful Neighbours sent my Beautiful Daughter half a kilo of chocolate brownies through the post this week. She was utterly delighted and declined to share them. When Giant Husband tried to pinch one she berated him for a lack of brownie etiquette. Which made me laugh. A lot.

Bec finds her joy in endlessly enquiring - there is always another thing to see, find out about, enjoy. Our latest slightly strange discussion was about astral projection. So for Bec there is a deep sense of joy in learning and discussing.

I did Google how to do it yesterday and discovered that you just imagine being free of your body and floating about. I do that anyway. I like floating about outside of myself, its good fun. I had no idea it was called astral projection, I thought everyone did it.

My Aged Parentals are endlessly excited about everything. Even snooker. ( I do judge them for that particular joy).

Snooker is the same as watching paint dry, except slightly less exciting. It’s almost as dull as golf.

When Ma was in hospital recently Pops & I went to drop some stuff off for her in her car, a 5 litre bright red convertible Mustang. Pops revved the tits off it going past the ward she was on whilst she stood at the window waving like a loony.

' What on earth was that?' came the startled comment from the next bed.

'That's my Husband!' came the joy filled reply.

Where do I find my joy I hear you ask? There is Jack Daniels of course, but not all of my joy is found at the bottom of a glass/bottle. And of course there is the Edgar Allen Poe death mask that arrived this week!

It is truly strange and not very pleasant.

Laughing, that's where I find my joy, laughing at what is, especially at the moment, a very serious world. Making other people laugh. Especially little people. Incredible Grandson starts to laugh when I answer the FaceTime call from BD- there is nothing more able to put the joy into ones soul than a belly laughing baby.

You know those amazing laughing until it hurts moments that fill your body and mind with endorphins. Those are joyous. They solidify the relationships we value.

We should all do more laughing I think.

Laughing is infectious and so the more we do, the more other people laugh too which is why our little Clubhouse gang spent an hour laughing about stupid things we’d come across at work over the years, ranging from men with beards in dresses to people unscrewing their false arm and screwing a new one in whilst in a meeting.

In conclusion - Joy is infectious - infectious in a good way! Spread joy!

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