You know, you don’t have a lot of things to complain about, okay?

There are certain things I don’t want to hear at 3am with a fire belly full of whiskey and the kind of potato chips I would only consume past the hours of reasonable thought. Sweet Onion, for Lord’s sake. At 3am wearing smudged eyeliner and clutching the phone that is my greatest and most untrustworthy weapon, I don’t want to hear things about myself that are ugly. And true. And noticeable by other people.

The thing is, I can be a real fucking bummer sometimes, but I’ll get to that in a second. I mentioned the whiskey before, right? I fucking love whiskey, but there was a whole year of my life where I tried to make gin ‘my thing.’ I liked it. It tasted like Christmas trees. It had, no shit, less calories than most alcohols. It made me the kind of lush that wanted to talk to you about books or history or something. It made me seem vaguely nicer. This was also around the same time I started buying a lot of blazers that weren’t black and wearing ruffled purple shirts with polka dots. I was the kind of girl that was constantly ready to work at Banana Republic. Who drank gin. With extra lime!

This didn’t last.

I’m a whiskey girl, tried and true, who also happens to like gin. I like the burn in the throat whiskey gives you. The unforgiving, relentless gnaw in your stomach. I like the fact that my brow narrows and I don’t like everything in the room after I drink it. I like that it makes me a bit madder, a bit wilder. I like the oak punch in my mouth and how it makes me kinda growly. I don’t want to drink the Christmas trees, I want to burn them down. If that’s not dramatic enough, consider the fact that I almost always wear combat boots now. Consider the fact that I’m 4’11. I am Fievel goes Punk, if Punk shopped at Forever 21 and can’t tell the difference between Jim Beam and Evan Williams. I never said I was perfect, I’m just saying I sincerely enjoy feeling…challenged. Difficult. I also don’t like other people telling me I’m being a shithead when I am.

Except right now that was happening, and I was being a shithead, because I had been carrying around a big old boulder of dissatisfaction and people were noticing it. 

I really thought I hid this kind of stuff well. Lately, my attitude has been ‘improving.’ Lately, I have been trying to tone down on the ‘I hate people’ bullshit, because I don’t actually hate people. This was a completely big turnaround for me, to admit that people are fine. People are great! I just happen to encounter a lot of idiots. However, lately I’ve also been doing the kind of thing where I stay up late and listen to music and just feel genuinely restless. There is a part of me that is always disappointed in how things are going. Always looking for something else. Always plotting to make my life better or happier or more fulfilled. I like this feeling, and I am used to this feeling. I enjoy feeling unsatisfied because I think it makes me work harder. I like feeling whiskey burn so I can be irritated at people before they are irritated at me. I like being slightly annoyed at my stance in life. I want to get places. I want to kick down doors with my stupid worn out combat boots. I want to GO.

However, the not-so-good part about this is that I need to learn to enjoy things more. The little things. The Wednesdays. It’s about high time I stop feeling so annoyed, or at least to not feel the restlessness all the time.

Just a couple of weeks ago, I had one of those pure bliss moments that doesn’t happen too often for anybody who isn’t described as ‘sunny.’ This kind of moment only happens with a very specific combination of ingredients: awesome people, Sundays, and the rest of that said Sunday to fuck around and not think about anything other than breakfast, music, and beer. It also helps if I am not in my city, because when I am home I am usually just wrought with the kind of ‘oh shit, these are the streets I pay my bills in.’ Anyway, in my rare state, I thought to myself ‘why can’t I just feel this stupidly happy all the time? Why can’t I just feel cheery and content for long periods of time?’ But alas, I knew that I wouldn’t. That tomorrow I would return to my room with the thrown piles of clothes, annoyed and on some kind of crusade to make myself feel happier. Better.

I stewed in said shit mood for a while, until at 3am with chips and whiskey I had my reality check handed to me. I let this check hang above me for days unpaid. And then, today, I did my laundry. I hate doing my laundry. I brought a book and my Ipod and sat in the laundromat with these little Spanish ladies who were running around and doing their bed linens. This, inexplicably, made me feel really nice. Hearing rapid Spanish while folding floral sheet after floral sheet reminded me of my grandmother who isn’t around anymore. Being in the laundromat reminded me of sitting in the laundromat as a kid, pouting at the comforter folding I had to do. I had nothing to complain about on a Thursday afternoon. I was absolutely okay with the spot I was in, for almost no reason at all.

What I’m saying is two-fold. We all deserve good moments like this. We also deserve to feel unsatisfied. To feel the need to push yourself. However, you also need moments of bliss, of happiness, of little things that aren’t due to weekends with friends or any other typical ‘feel good’ kinds of shit that aren’t daily. Happy for the sake of happy. Smile for the sake of smile. Content before the push.

These things are usually simple. It’s the best song on your Ipod. It’s the first bite of a good sandwich. It’s the walk home from the subway. The collapse into bed. The sound of your goddamn Gchat. The music venue before a concert starts, the fresh ice in your freezer, the phone conversation with your friend, the crush you have, the socks you found matching. The moment you let yourself sit in your room and just let it be. I want you allow yourself one lovely moment every day of your unsettled life. I want you to keep working to have a happier life.

Drink the damn whiskey, is what I’m saying. I just want you to remember to take a good look at the half-full glass it’s coming from, too.