I’m really getting sick of people being good-humored and having fun. It’s the smiles and head nodding, the eye contact and gentle shoulder grabbing that’ve got me so down. Yesterday I saw two friends (not mine) talking and laughing together and I wanted to push them into a river.
Right now it’s snowing outside, symbolic of death, and people are playing. To me, having a snowball fight sounds great. It means I get to whitewash my little sister until she cries. Outside, they’re having a snowball fight but they’re having fun––
Actually, wait. Maybe, I’m wrong. Maybe I just never learned that the definition of fight involves the word frivolity. Or –– probably even more likely –– a group of scientists got together and decided that the rules of competition don’t apply to snowball fights. As if! It’s just people being immature. It reminds me of my intellectual capacity at age six.
Me. I’ve learned that smiling is a sure sign of imminent failure. Despite my parents’ influence (they are disgustingly happy), through extensive self-discipline and punishment, I have learned to never give someone the upper hand by smiling at them. If you smile at someone, you are showing them that they are more capable at something than you, making someone smile. On occasion I will smirk at the psychological anguish of others, but at that point I’m already the victor.
Hold it…. I haven’t been totally honest with you. I’m not really upset with people being happy! Those people I saw? I talked to them! I told them a joke and they laughed! The snow? It was beautiful! My friends playing outside? My friends! Smiling? Forever!
Gosh! I’m at my desk listening to A Charlie Brown Christmas and I’ll tell you nothing can get me down. It’s winter, there’s snow outside, there are only a few days until I start my advent calendar and¬¬––
(Mumbled voice from offstage)
Offstage: Your sister was eaten by seals.