blog comments powered by DisqusJust 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.