Barely Missing Happiness

At work, I’ve been called Grumpy lately, and many of you who know me won’t be surprised. We all know I have a tendency for bigotry, and contempt has long been my bedfellow. It’s this kind of attitude that has made me rather unpopular with the party types. Perhaps it’s because I don’t seem to want to have fun.

Not that I take pride in being a killjoy. It is, however, hard for me to slack off if there’s still work that needs to be done, nor is it easy for me to find the slightest bit of enthusiasm in doing so. Sloth especially irks me. ‘One-track mind’ they say, and I remember I’d often take it as a compliment. Much better than ‘scatter brained,’ I’d say to myself — something my parents would always look down on, despite their own hypocrisy. Consider it an aversion to idleness — I just get so stir crazy.

There’s also my reservations. Not that I’m a snot-nosed finishing school graduate, but there are, indeed, some things one can avoid doing and saying in social situations. There’s no Freudian mystery to it either:

“I used to be very talkative when I was a kid. I’d say anything and everything that was on my mind. I’d say the most improper comments on people right in front of me, about the very gruesome torture sessions I had with bugs earlier that afternoon. My mom upon hearing this would instantly scold me, motion for me to keep quiet, and have a much longer talk with me later on. As I grew up, I just made it a point to keep my mouth shut, for fear of a scolding. I shut up so well that people find it odd how unusually quiet I am. That fear of my mom giving me of scolding still lingers I suppose, although now, somewhat more unconsciously.”

As for missing happiness, it’s easy to point out that my own reservations are the very inhibitions to it. Yes, I know I’m wound up too tight. Forgive me, then, for putting off fun, trading it for more stable future, career-wise at the very least. I’ll be laughing all the way to track day with my convertible.

Perhaps there are many others like me that find enjoyment in the subtlety of laid back long discussions than the boisterous blare of speaker and nonsense. Forgive me for failing to care about your new bag, or what latest song your iPod has, or for not shedding a tear that you can't stand the heat. It’s pointless if you don’t even know what Hotel California means. Contempt? Perhaps. Condescension? Yielded with authority. Snob? Why, thank you.

Party? When I'm done and dressed for the occaission.