It's usually always other people, usually.

I was supposed to write something yesterday, but to blunt I couldn’t be bothered. I went out instead. I went out and had some drinks and sang some karaoke, because I know how to live. Rock and roll. I could be bothered to do that because when out and about the mind is distracted, when drinking thought is dulled and when reading song lyrics and then singing them to a tune, most things are ok. I couldn’t be bothered to blog because I wasn’t in the mood, I was in a mood, just not the mood. So obviously todays subject is mood – or perhaps more accurately, my mood – what preceded was the introduction and what follows is the opining. Such is the structure of these things, as by now should be clear.

I am an over thinker (it’s a previous post, you may as well read it if you haven’t, you’re already here after all), something that causes irritating mood murmurs. Other people would probably refer to them as mood swings but that sounds a bit dramatic, not to mention negative and mental, so I shall use ‘murmurs’. Over thinking tends to result in extended contemplation, which in turn leads to finding yourself locked in a certain hypothesis. Other people would probably call this ‘obsessing’ but, again: mental and negative. I’m also not stupid and very much aware of who I am and what I’m like, so on becoming caught in an idea that is pointless and unhelpful, I can get annoyed at myself for doing so. I can see it happening, I know it is, or should be, avoidable. I don’t like being grumpy – just because you’re good at something doesn’t mean you like it – and yet, grumpy I become. Suddenly I’m in a bad mood loop, where being in a bad mood encourages a heightened deconstruction of events, and ruminating on the bits of the bigger picture I end up with makes my mood badderer. Or worse, if you prefer.

After a while, simply being in a bad mood you know you shouldn’t be in is enough to sustain the gloriously unnecessary misery all on it’s own, no over thinking needed. Brilliant bit of design that. It’s at least partly down to how everything tells us our lives should be and how, in turn, we should be in them. Brain: 0, Media Depiction of Perfection: 1. Anyway, there are obvious suspects when it comes to the murder of Happy – not the Dwarf, the state of mind. At the moment employed life is a bit mad, lots on and all that. There aren’t enough staff to do the work, people are tired and morale isn’t at it’s highest. So that effects ones mood. Now I quite like my job, mostly because of the people I am fortunate enough to work with, and partly because of the money, but it isn’t everything to me. Pretty sure I’m safe offering that as truth. It’s just a job. The thinking me reckons that means it’s probably not the job pissing me off, which means it must be something else.

The next port of call is relationships. I’m not annoyed at any of my friends or family, at least no more than I usually am, constantly, for a wide variety of petty, self created reasons. I’m no different to anyone else in that respect. I’m not in a Relationship, which has been pretty good fun actually. After the unenjoyable bits of a break up subside, the well adjusted selfishness of single life is quite refreshing. The peak of that selfish sanity being an almost complete disinterest in being with anyone else, then of course that is replaced by affections towards someone rather lovely, which is the state I now find myself in. While it is a bit jarring to go from me-me-me to me-me-oh-hello, it’s not genuinely annoying. Unexpected, yes. Annoying, no. So it seems relationships aren’t to blame for the continuing malaise either, which is strange because it’s usually always other people.

Further investigation provides a fairly plausible answer. I’ve been assuming that something external has triggered a reaction that has led to a perpetual darkness, that something relatively out of my control has rankled and that has set the wheels in motion. I’ve looked at work, friends and the opposite sex and I’ve drawn a blank. These things all offer their own unique complications, confusion, dread and delight. Oh yeah, delight. Good moods, you may have noticed, are largely absent from this self indulgent rubbish. That isn’t because I don’t believe in good moods, I do. Yes I do. I have them quite often, it’s just that I don’t grin vacantly like I’m insanely over medicated when I do. Good moods aren’t heavily featured because they tend to be brought about by good things, and that’s bloody obvious. I mean, there’s no great mystery surrounding the foundations of your happiness on the birth of your child, there should be no surprise that you skip all the way home when she says yes. Boring. It would be useful to know how to cling onto the positive vibes after the fact, or how to store them for later use, but it’s far more interesting to ponder on the musings that lead to frowning. Happiness is distracting, pain focuses. Where was I?

Oh, right. A blank. I’d drawn a blank. Which is basically the reveal. There’s really nothing to be annoyed, irritated, bitter or generally down about, nothing I couldn’t alter if it reared it’s quite likely head anyway. The blank’s there because there is a blank where I’m looking. No reasons. Nothing doing. So tragically that only leaves one factor, one that does at least mean I was sort of right about one thing. It is a relationship. It’s just that it’s not one with other people. It’s me. I have, rather spectacularly, managed to get annoyed and grumpy about the fact that, when I stopped to check, there wasn’t any valid reason I should be annoyed and grumpy. Which is a bit of a bother, but no cause for tears. It appears that I’m not feeling sour at all, I’ve just made a mistake and I’m sure it’s an easy mistake to make, so all I need to do is nothing. Just continue being not in a bad mood and I still won’t be in one.

Maybe this could work for everyone. Every morning we should all sit down, together, and remind each other why there’s no real reason to be glum. Unfortunately, I agree with you. If I was in a bad mood – which we’ve established I’m not – and I was reading this, I’d ignore it and call me a wanker. Which would probably really hurt my feelings.

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