A Journal of Humor and Verbal Anarchy

 
PDD

When the temperature dips down to the minus digits, the earth seems permanently encased in a jello mold of dirty snow, when the Farmers Almanac is more depressing than the headlines of the the New York Times, Ezra slips into a philosphical mode. He finds solace in Wordsworthian musings. He wanders lonely as a cloud, trailing Glad bags filled with Budweiser empties. Haha! Private joke. It's all a fucking private joke.

Let's face it. Billions of people have at one time or another sucked up the oxygen of this planet, chewed a couple dozen cows,gulped down how many gallons of carbonated beverages , visited the Golden Arches how many times in their lifetime, spent how many hours staring at a computer screen, how many years in a Motor Vehicle Registration renewal line. What have they left behind? 99.9% don't even leave a headstone . Those that do often find their tombstone replaeed with the foundations of a 100,000 sq. ft. Walmart. Imagine that. Spending your eternity under the Automotive Section of a Walmart.

No, Ez isn't depressed. Calling your finely honed existential malaise a depression is a cop out, tantamount to selling out to the pop psychology mavens that write columns for the Ithaca Journal. You've spent years refining your gloom in faraway places like Trenton, New Jersey, the Bronx, Oneonta, Ithaca. You've gone through the 70's, the 80's. the 90's. You remember the Vietnam War, Lebanon, Somalia, Granada, Panama, 2 Gulf Wars, lived through the presidencies of Richard Nixon, Ronald Reagan, the Bush League, new Democrats, old Republicans, born again bohunks, babe-crazy backwoodsman; have watched 2,000 hours of Nightly News. You've read two John Updike stories - not by choice, either; a good share of Paradise Lost, definitely not by choice. The number of books you've wanted to read far exceeds the quantity of books read. You've watched how many cars rust out, owned how many wrist watches that you've misplaced, accumulated enough ATM receipts to have been able to copy out the complete King James version of the Bible. You've seen the best minds of your generation eat Pop Tarts. You've survived the millenenium, the go go years, the Disco Duck craze, the Age of Aquarius, the new Age, the new New Age and now you're working on old age.

You've earned the right to be gloomy. Don't let them take it away from you.

If you look out the window, find that the snow is topping off just below the level of your gutters, that your car looks like an Eskimo Pie, that the ice hanging off the telephone wires resembles an Afro pik, don't be sad. It's only temporary. Think of centuries of snow slowly piling on top of your grave, Think of all the wars yet to be fought. Think of all the aeons of pain and suffering the human race has and will have to endure until we wise up to the experts, the politicans, the talking heads, the corporations, the priests, the columnists, the messiahs past and future.

Picture how Britney Spears will look 45 years from now. If that has the opposite effect of cheering you up, think of the $2,000 a day it will cost you to live in a nursing home. Or how much a gallon of gasoline will cost ten years from now. Imagine the day your boss walks in and informs you that your job has been moved to mainland China. Go one step further. Consider a day in the distant future when you get an email advising you that, in point of fact, you have not been chosen to leave for Mars with the rest of the human race. You're left standing in a cloud of swirling carbon monoxide as the last shuttle leaves for the red planet.

Embrace the sadness, cultivate it, cherish the gloom. Maybe what you have is not Seasonal Affective Disorder. You might be lucky enough to have contracted PDD. Permanent Disaffective Disorder.

Maybe Ez will leave something behind after all. He's coined a new name for an old feeling, repackaged what used to be called melancholia and launched a new acronymn for the 21st Century. That counts for something, doesn't it? Do you think I can get that etched on my tombstone? Here lies Ezra Kidder, Discoverer of PDD, May he RIP.
Comments invited at: ezrakidder@gmail.com - Peace, Ezra at 7:39 AM