Overrating fun

"Fun is overrated." (John Bunker)


Has anyone felt anxious for something or doing something? Imagining what it wil be like to hold that thing in your hand, what you're going to do with, how much fun you are going to get from it? Or how much fun you'll get when you are doing what you wanted to?

And when you finally get it, it has moven from your mind to your hands and...

It is a deception, isn't it? I mean, the thing you most hoped for is not all you thought and sought. It's not that you're not having fun, but the ideia of fun you had built was now destroyed and replaced by something less. It happens. A lot.

The sad thing is when the fun you had built turns out to be a person, or involves one. How does it feel to be left aside like an out-of-fashion toy by some spoilt brat who found a new sparkling thing to amuse hmself with for the next, mm, fifteen minutes? Sorry, I was wrong. The real sad thing is the poor amount of fun provided by that person.

Fun is overrated because there is no fun longer than transient moments. It does not take you above and beyond. It does not make you live forever, even though it may extend your life a bit.

It only takes away the sense of reality we find so pessimistic, gloomy, even despairing. The sense of reality that makes us see not both but all sides of a story. That's why I say I'm not stern. I'm immersed in reality.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Wandering away

It’s annoying how much I change over time. Change takes place inevitably when I’m alone. Loneliness is uncomfortable, but solitude is intrinsic to my being. It’s not a matter of “if you leave me alone, I’ll change.” It is due no matter what. I need solitude and I’ll have it whenever I need it. I can easily shut myself from the outside world wherever I am, in order to wander in the world of my thoughts. I have come to realize that people do not come and go into my life. It is I that part from them, because of my taking different paths. ‘Tis the way it has been with everyone who’s become somehow dear and close to me. I had a selfish, misled opinion that other people did not care enough about me to stay close, but now I see how hard it is to stay close to a nonstop nomad. How can one stay close to a person one can’t even find (not in geographical terms, but in terms of state of spirit and mind)? So there it is, this is why I can’t hold on to people; they’re like sand in my hands--or maybe...
Read more

Do contra

Poucas pessoas parecem concordar comigo em muitos, muitos aspectos. Mas isso realmente não é importante: ninguém é obrigado a concordar. Mas a sensação de "lutar contra a corrente" é inevitável. Acontece que eu não tenho idade (comportamental) para lutar contra a corrente. Eu vou simplesmente aceitar a diferença e desistir de convencer. Mantendo o meu ponto de vista, claro. Porque eu já tenho idade suficiente para ter minhas próprias idéias e opiniões. Essa sensação de não-convergência de idéias com quase ninguém é o mais perto que há, psicologicamente falando, de solidão.
Read more

Are you ready?

– Are you ready for work? It was a new day in the old life. He began to reach for his clothes, unmotivated as usual, but not giving that feeling much thought. It was merely his old depression kicking in, nothing to overreact for. Depression came and went like the seasons. Perhaps only in more frequent fits, but still, a seasonal thing. – Are you ready for work? His mind was driven by the sole need to keep on. Wounded flesh could not stop this man. Not even a broken bone was enough to interrupt him. His environment built very well the urge to produce regardless of outside conditions. Might I add, inside conditions as well. – You need to wake up, chop-chop. – I think I have broken spirit. – No, you haven't. – What explains this lack of motivation? – You are lazy, it's all. – I am not... Need I go today? – You'd better. – I am not my usual self. – My dear, you have no self. His mind took control of that particular situation, thwarting any hopes of change in that particular mor...
Read more