
Things I’ve found I discuss on this blog are usually one of two things: What I Think, and What I Do.
Very rarely do I talk about What I Feel because of another set of two things: “Blogging about feelings is so emo!” is a statement I abhor because nobody knows what that fucking word means anymore, plus that sentence is really moot, if you deconstruct it (OF COURSE feelings are emotional, you superfluous nincompoop!); the other thing is I have a problem really opening up that much to people offline, not just because I work on the internet, but especially in light of possibly rendering this blog even more self-indulgent than it already is.
So why open up now?
While researching blogs at work, I’m finding that November in the US finds more introspective posts from bloggers because of the Thanksgiving season, and possibly because in other parts of the US where there are actually seasons, people are more inclined to stay indoors, lending to deeper contemplation. Maybe. That statement could just be a cockamamie sweeping generalization about what I can see as I wander the Series Of Tubes.
(blah blah blah ok nico whatever get to it already.)
A lot of people usually claim fear to negatively connoted concepts. It makes sense. Spider bites. Closed-in spaces. Falling off of a tall building.
Death is popular, too.
As much as I myself can claim fear to some of those negatively connoted concepts, I am the only one I know who claims fear to a positively connoted concept.
That is, I’m afraid of what most would consider a good thing:
I’m afraid of being happy.
But let’s get something straight right here. This isn’t saying I believe seeking out happiness is a bad thing. It’s an unalienable right of the US Declaration of Independence. And if you know me in real life, you probably sense that I’m a solid 83.19% of the time in a good mood.
This unreasonable phobia is probably just a nicopolitan phobia.
But why is it a nicopolitan phobia?
From considering this idea because I’m trying to write about it, I believe the phobia stems from the fear of the loss of that happiness. It happens, you know. Happiness can be taken away, can die off, can be impeded by extraneous circumstances — and considering that, happiness presents the pain of its loss.
If it’s really the loss of happiness that I fear, to which I assign to happiness as an inextricable component*, well, that probably makes me unhappy?
I don’t think that’s true. And this is where I can’t reconcile my fear. I have a feeling that there are parts of my life that make me happy, and I just have a habit of never admitting when I am happy.
Why?
Denial lets me enjoy the feeling without being tied to it. I’d much rather this feeling not leave me. The moment I admit that I’m happy, it leaves.
And I fucking hate that.
In the meantime, am I happy, especially since I’m already working towards it?
Nah. But I’m content.
And that must count for something.
__________
* What? I went to college.



Get Through Monday (Lesson 4)
Monday, November 30th, 2009Zeitgeist
If my last post’s responses are any indication,
you, like me, share some very base tenets and outlooks on life
with many other people.
These people aren’t just like-minded.
They’re alike in spirit, and alike in time.
Zeitgeist comes from German,
zeit being “time” and geist being “spirit,”
and there’s a reason those words come together as a compound.
The people around you will prove it.
And there is safety in numbers.
-n
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