Monday, September 29, 2003


\Ap"a*thy\, n.; pl. Apathies. [L. apathia, Gr. ?; 'a priv. + ?, fr. ?, ?, to suffer: cf. F. apathie. See Pathos.] Want of feeling; privation of passion, emotion, or excitement; dispassion; -- applied either to the body or the mind. As applied to the mind, it is a calmness, indolence, or state of indifference, incapable of being ruffled or roused to active interest or exertion by pleasure, pain, or passion. ``The apathy of despair.'' --Macaulay.

Someone once said that the opposite of love is not hate, it's apathy. Just not caring. Of late, I have felt a certain want of feeling and privation of passion. However, as applied to my mind, I have also experienced a want of calmness. While feeling indifferent, I can not say that I am incapable of being ruffled or roused. In actuality, I have been rather disturbed by my lack of emotion and passion-- especially in regard to my music, relationships and work. Due to "health complications" I tend to be rather tired most of the time, replacing breathing with yawning and water with caffeine, which, unfortunately irks and aggravates other health complications. gah. They are all working together against me. Regardless, what I am trying to say is that I am generally somewhat mellow, physically speaking.

Any way. My goal, then, remains to exist and find joy outside of my haggard shell. I felt joy yesterday. The kind of joy you have when meeting a friend or loved one at the airport whom you haven't seen for years. The kind where you can hardly contain yourself and it takes every ounce of energy to hold still until you see them-- at which point you burst out of your seat (and practically out of your flesh), running full speed to embrace them. Like the anticipation of a predator crouched, ready to pounce on its prey or a soldier waiting anxiously until he can see the whites of his enemy's eyes. Like that, except without the trepidation and fear, without the malice and vehemence, without the propriety and honor.

It is a shameless love; an unabashed elation. If one could describe apathy as a cave so barren and hostile that nothing, not even stalagmites or stalactites could grow, this mirth and merriment stands as an eternally blossoming lea, flush and fragrant. Without the allergies.