Before that happens, I'll continue to dangle precariously halfway between cynicism and optimism, laughing at my own manic-depressiveness while life in general goes on without so much as flinching at my or its predicament.
I've got a proposition. It's based on this paradox of daily affliction. Between a little here and a little there, soon I'll be nothing everywhere.
See, my day-to-day activities map an odd two-valued function that shifts unpredictability from utter exhaustion to sheer boredom, or from sheer exhaustion to utter boredom, depending on the situation. I keep myself so busy mostly because there's nothing better to do.
Really, there's no problem with manic-depressives. It's the expectations of the world that are problematic. We should have as many national days of glumness and sorrow as we have holidays, just to balance things out. You can't expect people to be so damn giddy their whole lives. Start expecting that and you'll merely be waiting for good intentions to set, waiting for the makeup on the face of America to dry up and begin to crack. I don't appreciate your rouge, especially when it merely hides roguery. Without extremes of mood, happi- and sadness are conceptually intangible. I've never met a happy clam.
While we celebrate the nation's beauty we should rejoice in the ugliness of the body politic, the delectability of the corpus delicti. I've got myiasis of my eye. Look it up. Any assumption that the human race is by nature good makes an ass of you and me. There are heads and tails to be considered. The human race will have as many bad days as good days, and its mood will swing like a hangman's noose-bound pendulum.
Yet still we try to hide the impuritanical undercurrents of everyday existence proper behind storefront propriety. Pornography's a bigger industry than pulp fiction. Marijuana is one of the nation's best-selling natural resources. We didn't start the fire on the acne-ridden face of the national character caricature, but instead of popping the zits, we oxidized them and fanned the flames by disavowing their context. If our culture is built on hypocrisy and little white lies, it can only be changed by the recognition of darkness.
I'm not trying to be morbid. You can decide which world you want to live in. I can't jam mine down your throat. One pill makes you larger and one pill makes you small.
But the ones that mother gives you don't do anything at all.
I have a proposition. It ends in a preposition. Come dangle with.