REGURGITATING THE PAST, CHEEVER DEPT.

I seem to have crossed an invisible boundary in my chronological timeline beyond which everything that happens seems mildly muted by melancholy, as if events begin to fade into sentimentality as soon as I experience them. Or maybe it’s just a phase I’m going through, which would be nice. I’m not a big fan of bittersweet emotions, preferring unadulterated joy and despair, where you at least know how to compose your facial features. I can do goofily elated and I can do woebegone, but bittersweetness requires a very subtle arrangement of your emotive appliances that’s very difficult for me to bring off, like doing an inward pike gainer with 1 1/2 somersaults or whatnot. For one thing, I don’t have the fine motor control over my eyebrows that’s required for complex emotions. Now that I think of it, this alone may account for the social train wrecks I seem to cause with some frequency. I think I’m conveying a subtle amusement tinged with sympathy, and I get slapped in the face. It’s the eyebrows, I’m convinced of it now. I think I’ll shave the damn things off. Then I’ll look like a deranged maniac who kidnaps people and holds them captive in his basement, going down from time to time to poke them with kitchen utensils. No subtlety required there.