Already with a growing reader base (cough cough, snicker, puke), I've been receiving complaints about the recent somber tones of this blog (oh my, whaat, did I really sound depressed?). And although I've always been writing for writing's sake, I would like to temporarily bow to the wishes of my readers and act happy. Yeah, sing-song, Sound-0f-Music, wedding planner happy. Again, abrcadabra, invoking the mask of normalcy...
Anyway, always the crazy pseudo-intellectual fool, I did a bit of research about my current state and was surprised that another loony pseudo-intellectual twit already got ahead of me and dissected his own affliction way back in the 1600s. And as fate would absurdly have it, he came out with a book. And he called it: The Anatomy of Melancholy (Full title The Anatomy of Melancholy, What it is: With all the Kinds, Causes, Symptomes, Prognostickes, and Several Cures of it. In Three Maine Partitions with their several Sections, Members, and Subsections. Philosophically, Historically, Opened and Cut up.) Oh my, the guy was probably a twit indeed, caught up with his own depression, made it appear like it was interesting, and even made money and history out of it. By the way, his name is Robert Burton, whoever he is.
Since Mr. Burton already did it, I could not write a book anymore. So I'm writing this blog instead. Go ahead, readers, eat my shit. I'm pouring out all my angst for the world to feed on. Oh, good old cruel world. May you obtain satisfaction and great joy from my moroseness. Aside from the pseudo-literary entertainment, just allow me to give you the great enjoyment that you're not me.
My good friend and language guru introduced me to this word this morning: schadenfreude. It is a German term which means pleasure derived from the misfortune of others. She said it's from the musical Avenue Q (all I really know about that musical is the song the internet is for porn, porn, porn...). Thank you Kods, you just gave this blog a temporary sense of purpose.
So may you readers obtain schadenfreude after reading this blog. I am allowing you to take pleasure in my pain. Have a great time reading.
(Waaah! What pain?)
I'm getting immense satisfaction from reading all these angsts myself. Ahh, that other self that capitalizes on angst for art's sake. The '60s called it hippie. The '90s called it grunge. I'm neither hippie nor grunge. Just pissed off and tired and bored. Today's young people would call it "emo". And when it's "emo", it's definitely uncool!
I promise. This is the last of it. My next entries will be full of smiles and sun. But for now, enjoy schadenfreude. After all, this freakin' word is so hard to remember and definitely unpronounceable. So just like angst itself, let's all enjoy it while it lasts. =)