Despite all outward appearances of hyper-active glee, I think I’m a rather pessimistic person. That old cliched phrase about people who laugh the hardest are the saddest inside and all that bullshit nonsense seems apt for the over-dramatic way I perceive my life to be; although perhaps it’ll be more accurate to substitute sadness for apathy.
I’m not sure when it started, but I’ve come to become wary of the idea of happiness, or rather being happy. There’s always some catch at the end of a laugh-track, some twist at the end of a happily-ever-after — maybe it’s some form of defensive strategy. It’s easy to disregard this cynicism as residual feelings from angst-filled teenage years, that were demented enough as it is.
Whatever it is, it’s rather silly isn’t it? To anticipate an imaginary bad ending before anything’s really over. Makes it extremely difficult to enjoy the moment when it occurs.