The decision to launch catastrophizer.com was truly wrenching because it set into motion a catastrophism, a whirl of catastrophisms, so fast-moving, so dizzyingly depressing, that I was almost unwilling to concentrate on anything else. Only rarely does a truly breathtaking catastrophic cloud materialize in one's life, and "blogging" seems a petty thing by comparison. Thinking about blogging is the truly absorbing pursuit.
Would people "out there" be receptive to the Catastrophizer? If people were receptive, would that mean that my personal catastrophisms were no longer warranted? If people weren't receptive, would I be even happier because that would mean that I was right to think all of my pursuits would be dogged by failure? But would that very satisfaction make the failure too satisfying and therefore equally undermining of my personal catastrophizing?
As you know, gentle catastrophytes, I have been auto-catastrophizing madly for days now. This site provides me with diverse inspirations I never could have anticipated when I spent the bulk of my time catastrophizing about my eventual death and my choice of shoes. Would I ever be able to catastrophize with and for you again in a larger sphere?
Thankfully, I was reminded of My Purpose. What ultimately convinced me to return to the doling out of catastrophic life lessons was the thought of how much others might benefit from my informed and nuanced guidance. I imagined young women, blithely believing they were lovable and attractive, never considering the possibility that they were irritating and growing ever fatter. I was touched by an icy (and imaginary) hand when I thought of young men, told by their parents that they could achieve great things, never considering the fact that their grandparents probably also told their parents that and what did their parents ever accomplish apart from popping out sons and then trying to live vicariously through them?
Parents unaware of the fact that their children are most likely going to become middle-management. Children not yet ashamed of the fact that their parents are middle-management. Mediocrity going unmourned, ugliness unrecognized. Everywhere, everywhere are opportunities for catastrophizing, and everywhere I hear people being exhorted to love themselves and hope for the best. These influences must be ignored, nay, suppressed entirely!
You're not "exotic-looking"; you have irregularly-sized features. You're not "quirky"; you're annoying, especially when you refer to yourself as quirky. You're not on a fascinating "journey"; you're facing down advancing age and increasing infirmity and no one wants to read your journal entries.
As a said, I did not make the decision to start this site easily. That said, I did not make the decision to wear long-underwear today easily and I'm currently brooding about the fact that my guinea pigs almost certainly don't like me.
Would people "out there" be receptive to the Catastrophizer? If people were receptive, would that mean that my personal catastrophisms were no longer warranted? If people weren't receptive, would I be even happier because that would mean that I was right to think all of my pursuits would be dogged by failure? But would that very satisfaction make the failure too satisfying and therefore equally undermining of my personal catastrophizing?
As you know, gentle catastrophytes, I have been auto-catastrophizing madly for days now. This site provides me with diverse inspirations I never could have anticipated when I spent the bulk of my time catastrophizing about my eventual death and my choice of shoes. Would I ever be able to catastrophize with and for you again in a larger sphere?
Thankfully, I was reminded of My Purpose. What ultimately convinced me to return to the doling out of catastrophic life lessons was the thought of how much others might benefit from my informed and nuanced guidance. I imagined young women, blithely believing they were lovable and attractive, never considering the possibility that they were irritating and growing ever fatter. I was touched by an icy (and imaginary) hand when I thought of young men, told by their parents that they could achieve great things, never considering the fact that their grandparents probably also told their parents that and what did their parents ever accomplish apart from popping out sons and then trying to live vicariously through them?
Parents unaware of the fact that their children are most likely going to become middle-management. Children not yet ashamed of the fact that their parents are middle-management. Mediocrity going unmourned, ugliness unrecognized. Everywhere, everywhere are opportunities for catastrophizing, and everywhere I hear people being exhorted to love themselves and hope for the best. These influences must be ignored, nay, suppressed entirely!
You're not "exotic-looking"; you have irregularly-sized features. You're not "quirky"; you're annoying, especially when you refer to yourself as quirky. You're not on a fascinating "journey"; you're facing down advancing age and increasing infirmity and no one wants to read your journal entries.
As a said, I did not make the decision to start this site easily. That said, I did not make the decision to wear long-underwear today easily and I'm currently brooding about the fact that my guinea pigs almost certainly don't like me.
POLITE DISCLAIMER: This site is intended for entertainment purposes only. If you are not entertained, fair enough.
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