I'm awake.

It is the middle of the night and I am awake.

Because of noises outside my door?

Because the lights from a car flashed through the window, bounced across my ceiling and across my eyelids?

Because the bathroom door is open and no matter how much older I get, how much more mature, or wiser, I still worry about monsters in the dark.

But *I* left my door open before bed. It was hot in my room, too hot for me to get to sleep peacefully, even with a headache, so I left the bathroom door open, with the exhaust on. For ventilation.

Now, for whatever reason, I am awake, and the only solace to be found in the darkness, my only hope for sleep is the other, cooler side of the pillow. But that would mean putting my back against the open bathroom door, trusting in the stability of the world to sustain itself without the implication that my eyes, even closed, are positioned to look at the door. A bluff, a tenuous compromise made with the dark recesses of my own mind.

I know this fear. It has been with me for decades, and I am familiar with it's arrival, as well as how to put it down - gently, with mercy but without compromise. But it always surprises me when it arrives again. An unwanted friend.

I don't want to finish the last two episodes of BoJack Horseman. I've always hated ending, experiencing them, even when they're good, necessary. I see too much of myself in him, in the way that he craves a version of happiness that was never real attainable infront of him. I wonder what the last version of him would have thought of the first version of him. What he lost, what he took for granted. I don't know if I'm happy. I don't feel this happiness in me, bubbling up easily, ready and willing to play like a dog going for a walk. Happiness is not easy. It is not available at all times. It has a 9-5 and a baby at home, too busy to hang out on a whim like the old days. [Whose old days?]

When I think of what would make me happy, I imagine a billion[- no, 10,] ways in which my life needs to be different. But then, when will I ever have the capacity to be happy except for now. And now. Now. Now. Now. Now. Now. Now. Now. Now. Now. Now. Now. Now.

Happiness is a choice. At least, it feels like a choice, to be happy. It's hard to be happy by yourself. At least others' are good distractions. But one must imagine Sisyphus happy.

One must imagine: Sisyphus, happy.

So. Sisyphus. He pushes a boulder. Up a hill. Maybe a mountain.

It's a punishment from the gods. [Gods.] "Push this boulder" they say "up the hill [or mountain]. It is your punishment."

"Ok, cool, this one right here?" He replies.

"Yes. And when you get to the top, await our guidance."

"Alright."

And then he pushes it up the hill.

And on the way up, huffing and puffing as he rolls that thing up, he meets a guy coming down the other side, and they have a [Family Guy] moment where he says "When are the going to install an elevator in this thing, right?" and the mortal guy looks confused because he's Greek or Roman or something and has never seen Family Guy, but also, would it not be weird to see some bronze muscly dude pushing a rock up the side of the mountain for no reason? So he rushes off, looking back in confusion a couple times, and Sisyphus shrugs and keeps pushing his boulder, until he gets to the top.

And he's all like 'Yup, pushes it all the way to the top, I'm great. Awesome journey with a couple yucks throughout - although that one guy who didn't laugh at my killer joke was weird, huh. Welp, time to go home.'

And the Gods [- gods -] show up like 'Haha, sike' and poke the boulder over the edge of the mountain/hill.

And Sisyphus is kinda annoyed.

"What'd you do that for? It took me a lot of work to get that damn thing up here, and if you think I'm going to get it back for you-"

"That's exactly what you're going to do."

"What?"

"Ya."

"But that's like- ok fine, I get it, it's a punishment."

"Yup"

"So how long do I-"

"Forever."

"Oh."

"Yup."

" Can I listen to Spotify while I-"

"Goodbye."

And so he stands at the top of the mountill for a bit, flabbergasted, or maybe gob-smacked [or god-smacked ha], then he goes back down and starts pushing.

And on the way he's thinking about how boring everything is and how he's going to have to do this forever, and what about work-life-balance, and does he get lunch breaks, and if not maybe he should unionize, but how do you unionize if you're the only guy working, and are there even unions in Ancient Greece or Rome or whatever society is closest to his hountain, when the dude he saw going the other way on his first ride up, is coming back over the mounhill.

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But this time, the guy stops, and apologizes for being weird last time, but his horse needed a horseshoe and he had to rush to get one last minute because the horse wanted everything to be perfect for horse prom but that's no excuse for being rude. And Sisyphus and the weirdo taking a horse to prom have a nice conversation that makes Sisyphus feel a bit better about being ignored earlier, and makes him forget a bit about his eternal punishment of boulder pushing.

But then the [Herd Guy] rushes off, and it's just Sisyphus and the boulder. But now Sisyphus is thinking about horses, and proms, and horse shoes, and the guy who makes good horse shoes in the town at the bottom of the other side of the mountain, and Sisyphus hadn't even noticed that there was a town there, he was too wrapped up in the G[g]ods and the boulder and his punishment.

So when he gets to the top of the mountain and the boulder rolls down, he smiles, because he can go take a look at the town while he pushes his boulder. And sure, when he gets there people could be kind of rude to him, but also they could be busy, and actually kind of nice, and let's not forget the sick gains from pushing a boulder up a moill over and over, and isn't the view up here kind of nice.

And maybe, over time, people hear about this dude pushing a boulder up a hountaill again and again, and he turns into a bit of a tourist attraction, and then there are always people for Sisyphus to chat with. Then maybe an economy builds up around the increased tourism in the area, and more and more people move over, making little houses and towns all over the place, with artists and sculptors making souvenirs of him for people to take home, and he gets to hear a whole bunch of interesting stories from people coming from all over while he pushes his boulder.

And then maybe everyone kind of gets used to him, and the locals are forced to find new ways to support themselves financially, and he has a lot more free time to relax.

So he looks at the clouds during the day, and the stars at night, and learns to carve and paint from the few people who still do it as a hobby or profession, and upgrades the boulder he spends so much time with everyday, inspiring a new generation of 'artisans-on-the-go' who create art with moving objects, on moving objects, taking advantage of the affordances of the motion to create new forms of artistic interaction.

And maybe, sometimes no one is around, for a long time even, and he speaks to that which most people don't speak to.

He gets to know the land he is treading, learns when and where different flowers like to bloom, what animals like to wander past his path, how the sun feels on his skin at different elevations, how the earth feels between his toes in different seasons.

Maybe he paints and carves that into his boulder too.

Maybe he just talks about all of it with townies, and goat-herders, and travelers, and hears about their life, or their day, or their hopes and fears.

And maybe, because he's immortal, beauty ends.

He stops seeing some faces and saying some names, faces he's used to seeing, names he's used to saying.

And those names and faces slowly leave his mind, tip-toeing gently so as not to disturb him.

And maybe they thunder through his mind like a tornado, and those days the ground shakes because just pushing the boulder isn't enough, it has to fly down and shake the earth.

And maybe he talks about it with other people, and they tell him that they're sorry he had to experience that. And they tell him about the people they've had to forget or tried not to forget, and he tells them he's sorry they had to experience that too.

And they chat, or tell stories about the people they miss, and the people they love, or they walk in companionable, introspective silence, or they hug, a little too tightly but they both needed it. And then they each have a new name they want to remember.

Maybe he talks to himself too. Talks to the him he never thought to learn about because it felt like he was always him, and who needs to *know* yourself when you *are* yourself, right? But maybe he talks to himself because there is no one else to talk to. And maybe he learns things about himself he would never have learnt about himself if someone else was there. And maybe that makes him happier.

And maybe, over time, Sisyphus' boulder gets a little bit smaller, eroded by time, and people, and life, until it's just a little pebble he puts in his pocket as he goes on his daily walk, talking to people he knows and meeting people he doesn't, looking at the clouds and the stars, the flowers and the dirt and the seasons changing, and himself.

And maybe, even when the stone is worn away in his pocket into dust, and the gods have long since forgotten him, or been forgotten, he chooses to keep walking.

Maybe he chooses to be happy.

Imagine that; Sisyphus, happy.