It's not really an uncommon claim for someone to be moody. We all have our lapses into rage, love, happiness, laziness, and any other emotion capable of being produced by man. But have you noticed that most people really aren't all that moody? Some people are far too chipper for their own good. Mouths more genuinely suited towards swallowing pride, lawyer-like hand-gesturing arms more fitted for covering mouth or ass, whichever blows more hot air.
There are the few of us who are truly moody, the sort of moody brought on by personality, not by drugs or anything close to the sort. We're the breed that is not really impulsive per se, but extremely hostile towards the innumerable idiots and twits who seethe and breed like rats in a sewer.
At benturner.com, certain colors in selected areas represent what my current mood is. Below are descriptions of what the colors' moods mean and theme music for each mood.
Well, shit, you're not going to see this mood much from me. Not for extended periods of time, certainly. When I'm happy, that means everything is clicking. Big projects have been completed, gargantuan finals are over, my family is in good health, sweet Anna is in high spirits, and everyone else is leaving me alone. Absolute bliss. Fucking kickass!
I know I am not alone when I say a little attention is always necessary when one is depressed or feeling sad. It happens to me occasionally, by the way. And I can really feel sorry for myself sometimes. I thrive off depression sometimes. It gets me pissed off, motivated. Changes my mood to that of anger instead of sadness. Natural progression. If I'm sad, chances are that someone did something quite cruel to me when they were let further inside than they should have been. Or grades and work are getting me down. Or another dullard joined the personal web site community.
I hate being sick. I can't fathom how sickly people survive. I am so dependent on being able to do the full range of human ability without feeling the slightest twinge or cough sneak up upon me with feet light. Sickness to me is akin to punishment for something horrible I did. The slightest cold can turn the proudest, most elegant person into a stumbling fool with kleenex bulging out of the pocket.
Often I become sick of myself. Those mistakes of mine I identify and loathe. What others would consider slight turn into monumental flaws which will eventually conquer me. You see, to me, my success is entirely dependent on my actions. If I fail, it's my fault. And I know I'll be sick of myself if that happens.
I'm a little more grumpy when I'm sick, but I still love to be nurtured and taken care of. However, this is only the case when it is done by someone I care and love. If I have even the slightest runny nose, the wrath grows, along with its brother introversion, and quite a nasty beast arises to pronounce with acidity the most profound and cynical questions a mere human being could possibly come up with.
Red is the color of emotion, certainly, but to me, it means something a little different. You see, I feel red is the freedom to have emotions, and usually with that freedom comes contentment. If my mood is red, I'm very settled and very happy with the way things are in my life. Most of all, it means I love my Anna very much and I love the projects my skills allow me to work on. Life is good.
Unfortunately, I've never professed to be gentle on other people -- I'm still a son of a bitch who hates other people, even when I'm content.
When Poe's ravens haunt your daydreams and long-black-haired women with wan skin and heavy red lipstick seem like they're tattooed on the insides of your eyelids, you know you've wandered off from the rest of the cub scouts in Yellowstone. You're detached from this world and nothing seems to make sense. All the trees, bears, and various canopy lightings mean nothing -- to you, recovering and surviving are the top priorities. You feel completely detached from your own fucking human race.
If I'm in one of these states perhaps they could be inferred to be drug-induced (which I assure you they are not), and I'm more concerned with my problems than yours. Good luck in getting through to me.
Occasional perversity, a keen yet inexperienced wit, and a perhaps falsely bragged-about frame of mind and artistic ability are what I do. No clear path. All the paths I've seen are opportunists who think passing a quick buck is worth tossing about one's life like a ragdoll red-headed stepchild.
I feel horribly, disgusting, gross. It's not a hard way to feel in this cutthroat world of Estee Lauder and Vidal Sassoon. Where's the meaning? Where's the good stuff? Is it being kept on a vault by the lock specialist?
I feel frustrated and held down. Everyone wants something from me, all at once. No one is ever satisfied. What usually comes naturally to me in my work is not coming. The writing is painful and difficult. My whole body and mind are strained to their very limits.
I really do not feel like doing anything when my mood is brown. It is a draining experience which often leaves me worse off than I was before. Everything has mixed together and the colors are gone -- that color of human biological output now prevails.
Is there nothing better in my life right now than an elaborate plan to dismiss the boss from his position? Is there any reason to pursue inspiration, learning, and helping when nothing is clear and the mind reeks with stagnation? Give me colors -- bursts of colors, not this ruddy mix of hues and saturations.
Fire...Pantera stuff, definitely. Yelling, screaming, ranting, believing. Rants have gotten such a bad name as of late, what with the growth of sites claiming to add their own opinions.
How about trying for yourself, instead of leeching off of other people for cheap prices? Besides, the big sites don't really concentrate on how people actually think. There are no opinions anywhere -- just stupid stories with no endings with deep, overdone conclusions which are completely false because nothing divine or spiritual happens to these pathetic souls who embrace the metaphor as their inspirational god, instead of other, more important things. It's the fad right now to be angry -- but to me, it's not so much anger towards the unfairness of my life, since I'm living a damn good one -- it's more about the stupidity and luck of others who waltz through life.
I get worked up easily.
People are the main causes of my frustrations, whether they decide to stop right in front of me, or overcharge me because they couldn't use the number keypad very well yet, or just plain act stupid. Although I'm still trying to press my site to new fans, I'm not in the best of moods to receive vapid e-mail from people who read as much as an Alta Vista query gives them about my site.