No relation to the makeup of the same name by lush.
Emotions are tricky beasts, aren’t they? Like wildebeests; they stalk the dark passages of your mind, lurking about dangerously and assaulting passing neural impulses.
But seriously, you can’t trust an emotion. They’re practically feral. Say you’re reading a book on a train. Ok, fair enough. It’s a funny book. Ok,that’s fine. It’ll keep my attention for longer. So funny I’m sitting there giggling weirdly. Er, right. Setting aside the obvious issues inherent in a society where laughing in public is an action worthy of death, that’s the fault of emotion, right? If you could just keep a lid on that humour, the woman in the seat across the aisle wouldn’t be giving you such a dodgy look.
Dodgy looks are the worst, aren’t they.
I’m reasonably certain this isn’t normal. I mean, most people don’t look like they’re wandering around internally screaming “is this joy or am I just experiencing wind?!” (Not that I’ve ever wondered that in particular). But then again, I wouldn’t know. It’s all so tricky. And what are you supposed to say when people ask how you’re feeling? I don’t know seems to make people worry more, like maybe you’re suffering from a lack of feeling and might be about to pitch yourself off a roof or something. I don’t think a phobia of heights counts as an emotion, so it’s ok that I know I have it.
And then you get the whole different degrees of emotion thing. Wrath versus anger, joy compared to exuberance; I’ve studied them, with somewhat limited success, and I’m pretty sure at least 75% of it all is nonsense.
C’est la vie. I’m off to hunt down a few wildebeests.