Tag Archives: Jabberwocky

Pool of Tears

Well, I guess NOW you have something to cry about . . .


`I wish I hadn’t cried so much!’ said Alice, as she swam about, trying to find her way out. `I shall be punished for it now, I suppose, by being drowned in my own tears! That WILL be a queer thing, to be sure! However, everything is queer to-day.’
          Alice in Wonderland
Is it possible, like Alice, to drown in your own tears?   I am a champion crier, having started practicing in infancy, and further perfecting the art during sessions of “The Lord of the Flies” on the playground in public school.  Why cry so much?  Is it because I was orphaned at a young age with no money, food, or decent clothes and had to sell matches on the street until Hans Christian Anderson mercifully killed me?   No, I’m not the poor little match girl, or the little mermaid, or any of his other pathetic characters (What DID people do to Anderson anyway?  I want to go back in time and give him Zoloft.)  Wait . . . where was I?
Thank you so bloody much, Hans
Oh, yes, on top of an apparent case of ADHD, I have depression.  It’s not something I go around advertising, because shockingly this is not a very popular condition.  If you have heart disease, people go aw, and tell you to take your little nitroglycerin pills, which confuses me, because I had always thought nitroglycerin blew you up.  I guess in that case you wouldn’t have to worry about heart disease at least.
But with depression, people get all uncomfortable.  It’s like saying you’re gay.  Suddenly people of the same sex think you’re going to be filled with uncontrollable lust for them.  I’m straight, not gay, yet somehow able to stop myself from jumping every man I see (oh, sometimes it’s an effort, being the slutty librarian I am).  But I can control my impulses.  And I’m not contagious (although I do think some really irritating people are carriers of depression). 
Proof that humanity is lost


So I take medication, and I pay someone to listen to me whine.  And most of the time, I’m okay.  And I walk among you, indistinguishable from the normal population – like pod people.  Or Republicans.  But sometimes I’m overwhelmed, and I have to go off by myself and cry.  And cry.  Until I get this massive headache, which is no fun at all, because I didn’t even get to be happy drunk first. 
Depression isn’t just a mental disease; it’s physical too.  You have no energy, so you lay there like a slug, and you revel in lying there like a slug, because the entire world is awful what with all the crime, pollution, poverty, and Twilight movies.  You see the world through dark-colored glasses, so all the bad is magnified.  You might not have a terminal illness, but you did have a funny cough earlier and a pain in your hip.  Whatever you do, don’t research your symptoms on WebMd.
You have every one of these diseases.  Happy?


You did, didn’t you?  So now you are worried that you have an incurable disease, on top of your sadness about the general state of the world, and the fact that people will actually wear dresses like this in public. 
And then you get off the couch, and you go out to work, or the store, or something, and invariably there are people there.  And these people will annoy you by breathing.  You have to do something about this, and unfortunately, murder is generally frowned upon.  You must either find some sort of way to get through it, or you go back to being the couch slug.
Get off the couch!  No, you can’t be a slug.  There is no money in being a slug, unless you’re either independently wealthy or a Congressman.  So you take your medicine, if the doctor says you need it (he has a medical degree, dufus99 on the Internet most likely does not).  And you get counseling, if that helps you.  And you find something, anything, that makes you happy.  I’m sure there’s something.  For me, it’s laughing at stupid people, but whatever works for you.
Depression is the great lie.  It is the Jabberwock that hides in the closet of your mind.  But depression doesn’t define who I am, anymore than heart disease defines Ronald McDonald (just say no to Big Macs, clown!)  So sometimes I, as my aunt used to say as a child, have me a little cryin’ spell.  But then I have to pick yourself up and go after that white rabbit, because he’s not going to chase himself, and if I stick around I might just drown in my own tears.  And there’s too much of Wonderland to see yet, to do that.

I feel stabby! Oh, so stabby!

`Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!’
                    – “Jabberwocky” from Through the Looking Glass

What?  What???

Today I feel stabby.  Stabby is a new word I picked up, and before you tell me I can’t use stab that way, I will have you know that it is in the Urban Dictionary on the Internet.  I don’t see how you can get a more reliable source than that.  At any rate, at least it isn’t as bad as using antique as a verb (Today Lovey and I are going antiquing).  Antiquing sounds snobby and slightly constipated, whereas stabby adequately describes wanting to stab something.  So I can safely say that it makes me stabby when people talk about going antiquing.
                English is an evolving language.  And some speakers of the English language have evolved more than others.  I have two degrees in English, but neither of these degrees were grammar degrees.  Obviously.  Many of my professors were so grateful to have someone who could string two sentences together coherently that they ignored all but my most grievous errors.  Well, at least if they were male.  Papers from my female professors came back covered in red, like they’d been, well, stabbed repeatedly.  I’m not sure why the female professors were tougher.  Perhaps they were more immune to B.S.  At any rate, I learned that I had better use proper grammar with them.
                But what is proper grammar?  Some of the rules, over time, change.  Some changes are okay.  Others, in my opinion, are not.  Texting on a phone is fine, because it’s really annoying trying to hit those teeny little keys.  Texting in normal correspondence, such as with email, those “antique” letters, or academic papers, is not.  “Lol, omg, wtf is antiquing?” is not a sentence.  On any planet.  If you turn a paper like this into your professor, you should fail college immediately, and possibly serve time in grammar prison.  It’s just wrong.  Now a blog, being personal writing, is different.  Here I can call stupid sentences “stylistic”.  Hence my multiple fragments.  In fact, that last sentence about fragments is a fragment.  OMG.
Dictionaries can be your friend!
                Lewis Carroll liked to play with language.  Alice in Wonderland, and its sequel, Through the Looking Glass, both use puns and nonsense words.  It’s like he predicted how future teenagers would write.  One of the best examples of this is the poem “The Jabberwocky”.  This work is filled to the brim with nonsensical words and phrases.  I loved the poem.  Until, in a grammar class, we had to dissect it.  We had to tell what parts of speech the words – that weren’t words, remember – would be if they were words.  I nearly lost my mind.  What is brillig?  An adjective?  An adverb?  Let me think – oh, yeah IT’S NOT A WORD!  It is not supposed to make sense.  That’s why they call in NONsense.  It was enough to make me want to take a vorpal sword to somebody.
                And so we come back to stabby.  The Urban Dictionary defines the word as: -adj. describing feelings of hostility or mean temper, usually related to misfortune or high stress. Originates from the fact the stabbing someone or something seems unusually rational when one is in a stabby mood.  It’s not proper grammar, but it describes how I feel much better than “annoyed” or “frustrated”, yet is catchier than “homicidal”.  I need this word, because I have to live in the real world, which is, as I’ve said, far closer to the one Lewis Carroll imagined than I would like.  For instance, today alone I have had to deal with people, children (not counted among people), cars, caterers, professors (also loosely counted as people), furniture moving, computers, faulty coke machines, telephones, and people.   It’s enough to make anybody stabby.
                It’s just a good thing I am not the Queen of Hearts.  Somebody might lose a head.