Pondering way too much

I could not sleep last night. I laid in bed trying to remember when I was "Happy." I could think back to the joy you get when you buy something new you've been wanting... that's much better than getting and using. The anticipation is all. Then I remember back to my con trips and eating at Morimoto's with good friends. It's hard to get better than that. Then I realized that I'm not looking for happiness. I'm looking for contentment. Then I started wondering what contentment means. Major warning flags went off in my head! Arguing about semantics with yourself is a sure sign that you're feeling down. As if logic and reason will take care of the issues of the heart. I've had good contentments and bad contentments. When I was 18, just graduated high school and had no hopes of going to college, I got a job putting buttons on to rainwear and uniforms. A few weeks in I could wear my headphones and work. I was content. I had over a $1000 in my pocket, read books from the library, and listened to classical music all day long. But was I happy? Well I lived with my dad, and shared a room with my younger brother. I could not paw off, watch any TV I wanted, and had no car... one of the reasons I had $1000 in my pocket. Then I think about the contentment I have with my bunny. We rent a nice home, have lots of toys and entertainment, we have friends over on a regular basis, I have a good gob (even if stressful at times) and I'm married to a most wonderful man. What's my problem?? Well I'm not meeting the 'nipples exploding with delight' fantasies that I lived in to get away from the horrid conditions I grew up in. Not that they were that bad, but for a smart kid who dreamed of going to college and being a research physicist, living in a small town working at manual labor watching your friends fly off across the country to attend big colleges as you worked putting buttons on to things.... I guess I'm still wishing to live out my dreams. To be that physicist even though I know my math is not that great (that's with three years of calculus and higher math in college) to be the writer of great sci-fi even though my dyslexia makes my writing hard, to be immersed in an orgy of sex though I've been to orgies.....

Why can't I get it though my head that these imaginary worlds that saved me are also now hurting me just as much? Real life is wonderful and great, but I seem to never be content surrounded by happiness because I can still dream about worlds far beyond this. Damn it! Why can't I immigrate to Pendor, become a furry and live an immortal life doing all the wonderful things I want to?