We all have day dreams don't we? Most of the people who know me on a personal basis know I'm very liable to say the darndest things, and this is of the result of the fact that I spend a large amount of time in my head. It a most incredible place to be honestly, filled wit fantastic colors and scenarios. What spews forth from my mouth is usually an interpretation of the effect of my surroundings and the environment I find myself in at any given time.
Now, I am a fan of music. This is an understatement to nullify all understatements. I am controlled by the music I listen to, and thus it gives birth to the day dreams I have. Lyrics by Biggie and Jay Z have made me fail in many a relationship and gotten me into countless physical altercations, while the words of Miss Alicia Keys (I refuse to accept she's married) and Maxwell have made me fall in love on several occasions. Again, I am controlled by the music I listen to, and these songs have led to several fantasies and day dreams which I must admit, I enjoy immensely.
Despite my loyalty to the above mentioned artists, there is a song in particular which carries me far away, to a place which I call my own. This place about which I write is my happy place, and this song is not written, composed or sung by the aforementioned musicians. I'd like to think we all have a happy place. It is there we go when our physical being is in a situation where it is least comfortable, or sometimes when our minds are at their most vulnerable. Our respective happy places are where we want to be at all times, where no one and nothing can hope to annoy, harm or aggravate us. We feel not only safe, but exceedingly happy there. Sometimes, it can be a place where we've been before, other times, it is our utopia. It is where we achieve nirvana upon ecstasy. What carries me to this place is Micheal Buble's Me and Mrs Jones, and tonight, I feel the urge to share my dream with you all. Please take note, NO ONE is allowed to be here but me. I love you all, but there's a reason why it is MY happy place.
To no one's surprise, its a bar, but not just any bar. Its is the ultimate bar. For some strange reason, its embossed in dark red lighting. The leather couches are dark red as well, so are the walls. It is not blood red or anything so macabre, its more of a burgundy color. The bar itself is as most of its kind go, all varieties of alchohol decorating its shelves, with a bartender dressed in a white shirt, black bow tie and black waist coat, ready to tend to anybody's needs.
The unique thing however, is that there's is only one person in the whole room. Me. I'm sitting at the bar, wearing the darkest, blackest, most expensive suit imaginable. Sipping on the finest, most expensive cognac known to man, smoking the most exquisite cigarettes. Though my jacket is still on, I've loosened my tie down more than a few inches. The bar keep does not leave my front, his sole purpose, as always, is to make sure my glass is never empty, I never need to ask for a light. I know this may come across as selfish, but really, as I said before, this is MY happy place. The presence of anyone else would ruin the beauty of it completely. Some might think there should be company alongside me. Maybe a beautiful woman or five, maybe a few of my closest compatriots, hell, maybe even the board of advisors I keep so close to me. But I do not want or need any of these people around right now. I need to indulge in me. Women, though always a welcome distraction, would prove to be just that, a distraction. And as for my brethren, well they would just question as to the lack of the fairer sex, and dub this glorious place a sausage factory.
Lord knows what I'm meditating on, what reminisance is occupying my mind at this time, but the entire ambiance is perfect. Of course, this place wouldn't exist if not for Mr Micheal Buble, and true to form, he's right there on stage, performing Me and Mrs Jones, solely for my pleasure. He hits a particular note in the song, one which I cannot honestly explain to you good people who haven't heard it, but it gives me a feeling. This feeling is inexplicable as well. Its a combination of awe, sadness, regret, desire, futility, joy and appreciation. It makes me smile and cry all at once, shake my head in both amazement and longing. I wish I was an architect, or could afford to hire one, I would create this place. I'm not sure yet if anyone else would still be allowed into it, or I would make it strictly for my pleasure. Once again, I have no idea why I'm here, how I got here, or where this place even is. All I do know is that this is a beautiful place to me. This is where I feel fulfilled. I want this place to exist. I want to come here every night and meditate, contemplate and revel in the being that is Womilee.
I encourage everyone to find a happy place. It truly is a saving grace in bad times, in good times, its a place to go celebrate. It does not have to be inspired by music as mine is. It could stem from an experience, a thought or a word. Please whoever you are, wherever you are, right now search and discover your happy place. Spend a little time there, see how you feel afterwards. I guarantee you'll have that feeling I described afterwards.
Thank you all for your time.
One more thing, I just realized that I didn't curse once in this write up. Maybe I'm maturing....
That thought frightens me beyond conceivable rationality, so, just for the sake of it....
Fuck it, I am Womilee...
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