First I thought it was a passing phase and out of nowhere, I found myself singing Daniel Powter. Then, a day turned into a few days. On Saturday I called it a “bad week”, as I shed a few embarrassing and uncharacteristic tears in public transport. Today, it’s ten days. Like any bad meteorologist, I hope my prediction is false when I say, “Seems like Hurricane Crapathy will be with us for a fortnight.”
To be honest, I don’t know what crapathy means exactly. I first learnt about it through D. Parker’s fantastic blog yadadarcyyada (maybe you could explain it to me in the comments, Donna!). I googled it, and as I understand it now, it is apathy amplified. I sure needed a new word to make my usual brand of misery interesting again.
How much worse can it get than eating a Buddy Pack of Lays Classic Salted potato chips (your buddy would have to be a tiny woodland creature to find the shared experience acceptable though) and putting on ‘Relaxing Acoustic Guitar’ on Google Play as you make yourself write a blog post because you need to feel like a human being? And before some of you start spouting socially conscious #firstworldproblems reminders at me, I have to point out I am not a) from the first world, and it is redundant terminology anyway, which if you were actually socially conscious, you would know and b) wallowing in self-pity, which is what I often do, and have considerably constructed this blog over. But, not today.
My mother would say the stars are not aligned in my favour. I posited this theory towards her, and she told me to get on with things. I tried following YouTube suggestions for de-stressing (hence the ‘relaxing’ album from above instead of the Dunkirk OST which I’ve been listening to a lot lately), but they’re all a lot of work. Go Out. Get Sunshine. They don’t say, don’t worry about fresh spit or banana skins on the road, or turning into The Hulk for the benefit of the motorcyclist behind you on the pavement.
Switched to ‘Sad Piano Music’ now, as that Acoustic Guitar album was just too eh, not something I’d voluntarily hear. I’m also out of chips. This blog post still doesn’t seem to be reasonably made, yet. For quite a while, I’ve felt like I can’t make things this way anymore. I like doing the book reviews and the creative writing. But, my “blog-style essays”, or as I’ve always thought of them, my essay-style blogs have sort of fizzled out for me. I can’t reach those muscles in my brain anymore. Those muscles that captured a random thought in the ether of the constant cognitive noise, pruned and polished it a little, and let it out into the minuscule universe of WordPress, to be seen, or not to be seen. I am not crapathetic towards them, towards this. Just wistful.
It would be a big leap for me if I truly believed the stars were to be blamed. I have to have a reason, a rational explanation for everything. More than that, I have to have something to do about it. Blaming is not enough, things need to be worked at. If I have a bad day, I need to work out why, and what I can do to not have it again, which in turn, makes it worse.
God, I had to switch to the Dunkirk soundtrack. I need to have intense, involved. I spend most of my adult life on autopilot anyway, I can’t let that extend to what I do for pleasure. The way out of apathy is not easing out or relaxing. It is feeling, feeling intensely. Truthfully. Like you’re a Romantic poet or a punk rocker, however ludicrous the idea of yourself as either sounds like at this moment.
I’m pretty sure the next few days are going to continue with the, uh, hurricane. I have no coping strategy, apart from a lot of junk food and some promising reading material. And the extraordinary Dunkirk OST (I hope you’d had a sip of your beverage of choice everytime I’ve mentioned the, cue, Dunkirk OST. It is really, really good.). It would also make my day if you would tell me if there is any particular type of content you enjoy on this blog, just so I can have an idea on what to make more of (and to get some reassurance that this blog is enjoyed *winky face at flaccid attempt at humour*).