Going to My Happy Place

I need a Happy Place. You know that place in their heads people go when you start yodeling or talking about your dog’s gallbladder surgery? I don’t have one of those places, and I feel this is a hole in my life. So I did what people of my generation do when we’ve discovered major life holes. I Googled it. That turned out not to be as helpful as I’d hoped.

For one thing, the search results featured a disturbingly large number of pastoral pictures featuring cows. Having grown up near a dairy farm, I find this inexplicable. Do you know what cows en masse smell like? Not as bad as chickens, granted, but bad. That right there is going to ruin your happy place. And the other thing about cows? Not that bright. I hate to break it to these cow-happy people. But bovines, in the aggregate, have IQs hovering somewhere near retarded poodle, which is – again – better than chickens who regularly eat their own feathers. But still.

The other issue right off the bat was a wiki page that detailed just how someone goes about reaching their happy place once they’ve determined where it is. The steps include picturing dead relatives and imagining you’re spending time with them.

You’re thinking what I’m thinking, right?

“I see dead people.”

How is that relaxing? And really, does your family get along so well that you want them in your cow patty-filled happy place? You really want to spend more time with Aunt Gertrude who regularly fell asleep in her mashed potatoes and smelled like moth balls and hospital disinfectant? Fine then, if you do, but it’s certainly not helping me out any.

The wiki ended with, I swear I am not making this up, warnings about going to your happy place. They were actually labeled “warning” like that tag on your blow dryer that suggests it might not be a good idea to plug it in and climb in the tub. These helpful hints included “not falling asleep in the bath” and “not getting carried away with being in your happy place.”

The bath thing I don’t get. Let’s just skip that, but isn’t the point of a happy place to get carried away with it? Carried away from your problems? Am I wrong? I don’t think I am. What other purpose could a happy place have?

I’m also no closer to finding my happy place and all Googled out. I’m accepting suggestions. Just try to leave farm animals out of it.