There are days when I can�t bear to be around happy people. And let�s face it, that�s most days. I�m no more proud of this fact than I am of the fact that I ate a beef hot dog last weekend. Which isn�t to say I�m entirely embarrassed. Say what I will about the Morningstar farms hot dogs on the grill, that was the finest hot dog I�ve ever had.

So.

Last week I tried to argue that unhappiness is an integral part of the identity of many folk in their early twenties and that it changes as we get older. That youngsters see that pain gives life feeling and authenticity, whereas later they�ll realize it�s too easy to be sad to make it interesting and that happiness must be fought for. Maybe it was a bunch of crap I whipped up in my earnest wish to be comforting.

Maybe it�s just the present state of mind. Maybe it�s just that what I actually can�t stand are egomaniacal jerks. But lunch was good. Sobering. It�s not just me. But here�s a theory�so one leaves town and makes a new life. Do you just end up in the same mental place 3 years down the line, feeling bored and lonely and unfulfilled? Because, as the Kate says, wherever you go, you take yourself. And we didn�t have an answer. Neither of us is inclined to leave the security of here and make dramatic changes, as much because of money as anything else.

Bah. It�s boring stuff.

I�m listening to Wilco in an attempt to relax and focus. We saw them Saturday. A perfect sort of lazy spring afternoon spent lying in the grass on the hillside, chatting intermittently and watching with amusement the gaggles of hippies and hipsters crowding the stage in the midst of Parking Lot 18 at SIU. Ending the band�s tour with more of a sigh than a bang. That was a good day. Good music and good company are two of the finest things.

I�m googling the ex. He�s neither physicist nor judge. He didn�t buy a thoroughbred. It�s naught but that old fiction piece and adverts for the pseudo-band. Google�s great, but it yields no insight into people. I remember asking him before we resumed dating if he was happy. It�s a valid question, though it�s rarely answered honestly. Today I wonder at the honest answer.

We�re working on lists of what would make us happy. Anything. Dream jobs. I don�t know whether it will make things better or worse, but it�s helping for the moment.

Lists are endlessly comforting, aren�t they? Miss P. and I have an ongoing list of characteristics of people we can�t be involved with. They�re honest. Musicians and writers are on the list. Because we�re watching out for ourselves. Heck, even a good grocery list will do you no wrong. Feta cheese, Brita filter replacement, ice cream, onions and red peppers. Beef hot dogs.

If not happy, at least honest.