Epiphany post
Today is Epiphany. To that extent, we had 'Galettes des rois' and cider for desert. I'm the king. Pre-desert, we had a black-eye'd pea salad that I discovered thanks to my forays into vegetarian cuisine. That, too, is a very January kind of thing to do. I like to pretend that some day I'll become a more event-driven kind of guy instead of a keep-ass-from-hitting-fan driven kind of guy.
I've been reading Vonnegut as I'm apt to do. I'm rereading Timequake, probably Kurt Vonnegut's worst book but enjoyable anyway. It occurred to me that everyone I know ought to be so blinkin' happy that they have face-cramps from permagrin. Everyone I know should be acting like Happy the Dwarf. Everyone I know should be acting like potheads. This goes double for me. Vonnegut surmises that about 17% of the world's population is as fortunate as he is (well, was). He, none the less, attempted suicide and professes to be a monopolar depressive from a long line of monopolar depressives. He also says, "That's why I write so good." I don't think I'm really a monopolar depressive and I know I don't write that good, but I've certainly done my share of moping and whining and crying. I'm thinking that if my mind were reasonable, I shouldn't have time for depression. I should be too busy smiling and laughing all the time. For that matter, if your belly is full, you aren't thirsty, you aren't freezing, you aren't dying, you have a bed somewhere and no one you know is dying of anything unreasonable, you too should be on cloud nine. I'm inclined to believe that that is the single most screwed-up aspect of human nature; we're all bitches.
Kurt Vonnegut has quoted his Uncle Alex many times in his work and in his speeches. Enough to know that for Vonnegut, his uncle's words were right up there with the golden rule:
"When you're happy, please notice."
I've been reading Vonnegut as I'm apt to do. I'm rereading Timequake, probably Kurt Vonnegut's worst book but enjoyable anyway. It occurred to me that everyone I know ought to be so blinkin' happy that they have face-cramps from permagrin. Everyone I know should be acting like Happy the Dwarf. Everyone I know should be acting like potheads. This goes double for me. Vonnegut surmises that about 17% of the world's population is as fortunate as he is (well, was). He, none the less, attempted suicide and professes to be a monopolar depressive from a long line of monopolar depressives. He also says, "That's why I write so good." I don't think I'm really a monopolar depressive and I know I don't write that good, but I've certainly done my share of moping and whining and crying. I'm thinking that if my mind were reasonable, I shouldn't have time for depression. I should be too busy smiling and laughing all the time. For that matter, if your belly is full, you aren't thirsty, you aren't freezing, you aren't dying, you have a bed somewhere and no one you know is dying of anything unreasonable, you too should be on cloud nine. I'm inclined to believe that that is the single most screwed-up aspect of human nature; we're all bitches.
Kurt Vonnegut has quoted his Uncle Alex many times in his work and in his speeches. Enough to know that for Vonnegut, his uncle's words were right up there with the golden rule:
"When you're happy, please notice."