The (Externally) Silent Killer...

I’ve shut up about this for some time, mainly because I’ve believed that I was alone with this problem. But, as it turns out I’m not.

And that’s reassuring. So without delay, will describe my problem to you…

You see, I am suffering from OTNAWS, or Over Thinking, Neurotic, Arrogant Writer’s Syndrome to the layman or even laywoman.

But I’m sure calling a lady a laywoman would have explosive, and possibly violent, repercussions.

Why is a violent tendency always described as explosive? You can still be violent but without resorting to such loud and flaming tactics. Besides, I don’t think the neighbours like it very much.

My neighbours are loud, though. They probably deserve to be woken up at 3am by my strapping C4 to their car’s exhaust. I’m sure that they would accept me into their fold as I’m actively contributing to the loud noise in the area, and then everyone would be happy.

I’m a happy person at the moment anyway. Everything is where it should be.

But… I’m not blissful. I’m not euphoric. Why am I not euphoric? What am I doing wrong to deserve this absence of delight?

Now I’m not happy. I’ve gone and depressed myself with my lack of euphoria.

Euphoria doesn’t sound that healthy, though. To be honest it sounds like a type of amphetamine that seedy blokes with surgical masks toil over until the small hours, so that they can feast upon the spoils of young experimenters and the terminally reliant.

Terminally reliant. To be reliant on something or someone to the point where it is their ultimate downfall. But funnily enough, it sounds like a condition in where you are addicted to putting your tongue on batteries. It just sounds cool, too. “Hi mate, how you going? Me? I’m terminally reliant, thanks for asking.”

Why do people thank others for asking them a question? It’s not like it’s benefiting them in any way. If anything, they are detracting the amount of leisure time you have by asking you taxing questions. I mean, “How are you?” or “What’s happening?” or even “Did you know how fast you were going, sir?” It’s all just too much!

Too much what? I didn’t specify, did I? Can’t I carry any more things, and I am fearful of dropping these things all over the place? I should just relax. Geez, they’re questions, not bushels of apples. Questions, the last time I checked, were fairly insubstantial.

Insubstantial. Definition: Of lightweight, flimsy in stature. Eg, the research conducted by renowned psychologists into the phenomenon of OTNAWS.

I’m suffering from a syndrome that probably doesn’t exist. That’s pretty sad.

Seinfeld is nothing compared to me… except he’s richer than I can imagine. Damn.

There you have it. The train of thought of an OTNAWS sufferer.

OTNAWS is a debilitating condition, if it exists. It taunts you with thoughts you never would’ve thought existed… until you thought of them. And then it’s too late. ‘Cos you’ve thought of it. You can’t unthink it…

Any kind of situation can be blasted out of proportion with just a few seconds of quiet contemplation. As you can imagine, waiting for a girl to call can be water torture.

As the tick-tock laps the clock, each beat drumming into your head, the conscious brain works overtime to distract your thoughts from the silent phone. But the subconscious manages to plant that little feeling of doubt, and your senses are distraught by the niggling sense that the world isn’t okay, but you don’t know why.

And it’s not like it’s easy to unlearn how to think…

Pledge money for those who suffer from OTNAWS (condition pending verification). Send an email to the Inane Asylum with your name and address, and please expect a visit from some big men with dark coats and baseball bats.

OTNAWS sufferers, take heed. You are not alone, and your voice will be heard. That is, if you stop thinking about what you’re going to say next, and stop depressing yourself with your exhaustive self-analysis.

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Disclaimer: I’m joking people…also, the “happy but not euphoric” line was pinched from Calvin and Hobbes…Geez, show me a comedian who hasn’t plagiarised from someone else, and I will call you a fucking liar.