I recently realized that the bulk of my posts seems to be about relatively unpleasant topics of conversation.  I determined this one day when I happened to be reading over the labels that I assigned to each of my posts.  They say things like: mold, paranoia, hypochondria, cleaning, illness…  I don't know.  Together it all makes for a somewhat odd picture.  Especially when you then include things like: superman, toilet paper, and tire swing.

I'm not sure what it means.

Does it mean I have black humor?  That I'm a miserable person?  That I have problems?  Theoretically speaking, this would make sense if only because I used to be a huge complainer when I was a child.  It was probably the thing that I did best.  Who knows why I got so good at it - I might have been born that way.  I was sort of a pissy infant (understatement of the year).

Anyway, as  a child, when I was bored, I amused myself by complaining.  It was a twisted way to have fun.  I could literally complain about something about everything.  It was quite a talent.  And was probably a real bitch to deal with.  Sunny out?  Too hot to go play.  Cloudy or rainy?  Too wet, too gross.  I was supposed to make my own bed?  Were my parents kidding?  It was MY room, what did they care?  Food was a specialty of mine, which is actually kind of funny, because now I will eat anything and everything, and large quantities of it.  Dinnertime was the equivalent of the climb to the peak of Mount Everest.  First I complained about whatever we were eating.  Loudly.  I also usually shoved the food around on my plate to make a point.  Just in case, you know, my mom wasn't already feeling bad.  Then it took me about 5 times longer than a normal person to actually eat everything.  Eventually, my parents would just abandon me at the table because I was taking such an absurd amount of time.

Looking back now, I am overcome with embarrassment.  I'm impressed by my parents' resilience.  I'm not sure that I could do as well as them were I in their place.

My point with all of this is that as I grew older and marginally more mature, my penchant for complaining seemed to evolve into writing with irony.  Not always particularly good irony, but it was a redirection of my mean edge.  I think that this explains my posting labels.  Of course, the point of labeling posts is to help people to find my blog when they search for certain things on the internet's variety of search engines.  With my labels, the only people I'm likely to get are angry ones, depressed ones (depression is totally going to be a label on this post), and people who are expecting information about serious topics and instead are confronted with the ravings of a girl who's often trying to be funny about things that might not necessarily be funny.

How nice!