The Second Concatenation

Just the other day I was playing war on my inner playground and I happened to notice how for the mere sake of the game I willingly and eagerly agree to become my own worst enemy.

This realization oddly happened to coincide with a fragment of a Oaqui* message I had received at just about precisely the same moment.

The fragment introduced itself as: the So-Called 'Second Concatenation according to the Oaqui, and read as follows:

"From which it follows that:

1) Fun is the only reason to do anything, unless
2) it's more fun not to."

I found myself asking myself: "Fun, clearly, is the thing to have. When, therefore, and under what circumstances could it possibly be more fun not to have it?"

Whilst I found myself simultaneously answering myself: "When I'm bored or tired or something -- instead of, you know, doing something about it -- I frequently do in deed notice my metaphorical tongue happily probing its way toward the dank and rank cavities of self-deprecation."

Come to think of it, I am a proficient little prober. I can, with consummate skill, get to the root of an imagined agony and make my whole self very believably miserable. Way more miserable than anything I may be experiencing in the daily game. Way more self-destructive than anything threatened by my real enemies.

My longest-running Introspectaculars: Me, the classically painful tragedy of missed opportunity. Me II, the endlessly self-defeating soap opera of the late-blooming child prodigy.
 
How finely produced, how masterfully directed, how utterly absorbing, how inexplicably fun it apparently is to make myself feel so thoroughly bad.

It's the Second Concatenation all right.

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