01 October 2009

Yay for disillusionment!

I'm going to shamelessly borrow this explanation from an email conversation I recently had with a friend. (Qwip, don't laugh, it's the best I've explained it yet). So, without further ado, the completely uncalled-for explanation of why I like what I like.

"I don't get depressed. I may look like I am depressed, but I vastly prefer the term 'melancholic.' Depression is a clinical state of mind that needs to be treated with specific drugs. I am not depressed. I do, however, have an inclination to be more introverted/spective, and that inclination is what is mistaken for depression. Most of the time, when my friends think I'm feeling unhappy or depressed, I am neither - merely thoughtful or not happy. (The difference between unhappy and not happy is that unhappy is 'depressed' or 'sad', while not happy is neither happy nor sad.) So there.

Okay, the long awaited reveal is here... not. I'm a hopeless romantic in the sense that I really like romanticism (an artist of the romantic period or someone influenced by romanticism). I classify myself as this due to causes which seem to fit the bill nicely: I much prefer large-picture 'epic' type - well, anything really: literature, music, and clothing. The mood I get when I surround myself with things like that is one that I like quite a bit. It's not happy, but it's not depressed either. It's kind of like exultant joy. Classic literature and speculative fiction usually helps, as does most any type of music not widely listened to in mainstream culture. And of course, old styles, steampunk accessories, and rich browns and creams in my wardrobe also help. Bright colors, stylized flowers, kittens, and butterflies don't add to it at all, and they usually end up detracting from it."

Happy? Good. Because it's not happening again.

Ponder on that one,

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