I am Happy most of the time. And not just because I like wine. Drunky is not one of the dwarfs in the original story. At least not in the kid-friendly version.
(The adult version features Drunky, Depressed, Raunchy, Annoyed, Slutty, Daddy and Tyrone Lannister. Or so I’ve heard.)
Back to Happy.
Why wouldn’t I be? I’m handsome, in a middle-earth-average kind of way. Allow me to explain… I’m probably not as ugly as a troll, nor am I as hairy as a hobbit. I’m definitely not as mysterious as an elf or as old as a wizard. And probably not as noble as a king. So you see, just average.
I still have hair which is nice. I’m not referring to the hair that seems to grow in places where I’ve never had hair. I actually mean the hair on my head. Even though it’s littered with natural grey-ish highlights. I also have a Wife who lovingly ignores most of my flaws and together we managed to produce two perfect children. Well, almost perfect, as they’re teenagers now and one can never be sure how severe parents scar their children as we’re trying to push them through it.
My job is pretty cool I guess, as I’ve never contemplated suicide because of it. Okay never is kind of a stretch, as I would prefer to do nothing for money. Compared to the alternative of having to work for it. I have good friends who keep me sane most of the time, unless they’re acting crazy too. So I’m Happy.
Dopey does have a tendency to show his stupid face every now and then; but I’m normally only aware of his presence when it’s a little too late. It happens in those awkward moments when I showcase my incredible knack for shoving my huge, un-hairy feet right into the gaping hole of my face. Instances when I say something inappropriate. I normally only realise my mistake when the offendee glares at me and a very uncomfortable silence settles on the group of shocked people.
I don’t think I’m able to give advise. At least not good advise. I tend to have a very unsympathetic we’ve-all-had-shit-to-deal-with-so-suck-it-up kind of attitude towards life. What we achieve is what we work for. Nothing magically appear or fall into your lap, not even a stripper. If you didn’t pay for her, someone else did. So based on this reality I don’t consider myself to be Doc that often. In those rare moments when I do have an epiphany and share something spectacularly inspirational; it’s normally second hand info that I’ve read on Facebook, Twitter or on a T-shirt somewhere. And like all great writers, I don’t divulge my sources.
As a result of many late nights due to binge watching Game of Thrones, studying towards an MBA, “work” dinners or waiting to collect the kids from a party; I really enjoy Sleepy as much as I can. (That sounds kind of wrong in a way, doesn’t it?) Anyhow…moving on… I’ve even tried to recover some of the sleep I’ve lost as a result of those late nights. It doesn’t work. And as any parent with babies/toddlers/teenagers will tell you: One cannot bank sleep.
Down here in South Africa, just like in Westeros, winter arrived and we’re freezing our nuts off. I’m not sure what is the female reference of that expression, even though I’ve met a woman or two with bigger kahunas than most men. I’ve already proclaimed my hate of winter but what makes it even worse is when I turn into Sneezy. I sulk like nothing you’ve ever come across when I get sick. Ask my Wife. I actually make other people sick without passing on germs. I am just that miserable and pathetic. I love people, so I’m consuming vitamin C as if my life depends on it. I sincerely hope there are no serious, long lasting, negative effects for eating an obscene amount of oranges. I just don’t want to get sick and get placed in quarantine by my family and friends.
I despise the days when I’m Grumpy. And it happens to all of us. I’m old enough to know that it’s not even worth the energy to fight yourself if those days come around. Days when I’m annoyed or frustrated or irritated or just plain pissed-off for no real reason. You just get up like that. On the wrong side of life. Fortunately it doesn’t happen often but I do develop a serious dislike in myself when it does happen. The best thing is to remove me from society and stick a note somewhere, warning people of the impending danger in trying to converse with yours truly. (Please don’t make that suggestion to my face because I will take that note and shove it up your arse!) Most of the time slapping my own reflection or having the all important get-over-yourself-dammit-talk helps with the process. Sometimes it doesn’t. Then I just go to bed and wake up again.
Oh and before I forget, the only time I’m Bashful is when I’m naked.