Avoiding This Cult of the Chronically Sighing People

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Sometimes it becomes too easy, or even popular and cool to fall into this foolishly human trap of being unhappy. Me, personally? I refuse. lmr

 
 
 
Lately, there's been so much going on, going wrong, so much drama, demanding me to suck it up and be strong, and yet, here, inside my orbit, it would be so easy to fling these huge chunks of rage or to hurl these bruise-colored blues soundly into the faces of people who are clearly unworthy of receiving them. 

*Breeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeathe! Just Breeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeathe, Lin!*

The truth is: 

I don’t wanna become one of THEM… one of those people… one of those woe-is-me people who constantly sigh. Those Chronically Sighing People, I call them… You know them: those people who speak in fluently blue tones, who brood and cry in terminally sighing moans. Those people who sing only sad and melancholy songs… those people who exist in sobbing fits of solitude; whose only trick, kick or tic is a permanent facial grimace. 
 
I don’t wanna become one of them. God, please don’t allow me to become one of those crying, hand-fixed-to-the-forehead, woefully whining, overly dramatic, habitually Sighing People!


I don’t wanna be one of those people who bitch and groan and feel alone, even in crowded rooms; nor a friendless soul who’ll only move to those slow, sad and selfish tones of their own. I know some people don’t trust in different drummers for fear those drummers will fuck with the funk of their beat. But in the end, those feelings are so damned self-defeating.
 
 
So... I don’t wanna become one of them. 


I don’t wanna be one of people who drown in a pain… so deep… even strains of Coltrane (or Manilow) can’t release them from their Indigo Trains of Thought. I don’t need the tremulous coo of some woozy crooner to renew, redo, re-blue my Blues, when they’ve already been blown Blue enough. 


I just don’t wanna become one of them. 


I don’t wanna crawl into some small fetal ball, and be breast-fed by Nina Simone, mislead by Lady Day or hopelessly led astray by Sade. I don’t wanna believe Joni Mitchell ever lied… even if that “Furry” cat died and he really did 'play The Blues…' And though I consider Jazz and Blues True American idoms, I don’t want my Life to be a indigo-colored song that slides terminally from the reed of some dejected and sad-azz saxophone.
 
 
See, I don’t wanna be nor ever become one of Those People… those people who only speak, complain, brood and cry interminably. Don’t wanna be a locked-in-chains member of that mind-numbing Cult of  Chronically Sighing People… 

Okay? So maybe today, or maybe tonight, maybe if I try with all my might… I won’t be. 
 
 
 
Instead, from the Beastly Jaws of Human Suffering, I'ma be the one who snatches the living HELL outta JOY!
 
 
And so, in parting, I'll leave you with two very necessary words:
 
 
Snatch JOY!
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