Saturday 16 June 2018

Becoming Glumless.

Something’s bothering me. I’ve been feeling cheerful for a little over 24 hours and I’m getting worried.

I’m not supposed to be cheerful. I don’t try to be cheerful. I’ve spent years cultivating a glum persona fit to outdo Marvin and Eeyore combined, and look what happens: I get a sudden attack of debilitating cheerfulness.

So what’s gone wrong? Could it be a hormonal imbalance? Is it some kind of infection? Could I be coming down with manic depression and starting on the up stroke? Have I been possessed by the ghost of some mediaeval king’s fool who wants to come back just to find out what corn flakes taste like? Do I need to start carrying a bell?

And where do I go for help? A doctor? A psychiatrist? An exorcist? A shaman from the upper reaches of the Orinoco?

And is this condition treatable or one of the remaining Great Mysteries of Modern Medicine? Do anti-cheerfulness pills exist, or is the only known cure some foul-tasting plant only found in the remotest corner of Sumatra and guarded day and night by man-eating tigers?

Will I survive it? Is it a life sentence? Will I ever frown again? Might I be confined to a cheerful person’s colony? Will they write a book about my condition in sufficient time for me to enjoy some royalties? Does anybody have any vinegar?

But I do still feel a bit ill and I do still have some pains, so maybe there’s hope for me yet.

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