I am going to adhere to a new patron saint of cribbers, St.Lamentine.
She (yes, she is female, as would be anyone with more emotional spectrum than a teacup should be) will feature from time to time, whenever I wish to or anyone with affiliation to my blog wants to, bellyache, cry, scream and protest. She is a average looking girl of average IQ and is unique in between just about average in everything.
Her three miracles are:
She is a bad job and still gets up and goes for it everyday without fuss.
She has no social life and yet has never thought of suicide.
She can listen to other people’s problems and not try to commit homicide.
St.L can be invoked by any sad souls as they like it, and as with all saints, she will get the credit for the ‘miracle’ when the cribbing stops (at least for that specific topic)
I propose this concept around the valentine’s week mainly considering the fact that this kind of celebration is only for those who have love; these people form hardly 1% of the total population under consideration (got after carefully removing the dead, the comatose and the software engineers from the total population).
For the rest, 99% of the social active people, the dead, the comatose and the S/W junta, this week is the melancholy week where the predominant feelings are :
‘Nobody loves me’, ‘where can I find an un-registered gun?’ and ‘please god let me not have to go for the Valentines party with my cousin again…’
There is also a second group of predominant thoughts like:
‘Am I dead?’ ‘Am I comatose’ and ‘Am I closing all the internal loops before I compile the program?’
But these, we shall not take up for now, as they are hardly relevant, except to maybe help identify the schema of people who have them.
Whenever you want to cry out a 20 stanza ballad on the diminishing rainforest, or sing out Alanis Morisette/Sting lines like :
’Its like meeting the man of your dreams and then meeting his Beautiful wife..isn’t it ironic’ or
‘I am always hoping I wont end this way or is it my destiny to be the King of pain’ &
‘Why should I cry for you’
If you leave singing to those who can manage it outside the bathroom, you can go for the plain ol’ ‘whats he got that I aint got ‘ routine when you read the article about the forthcoming Aish-Vivek wedding or even ‘How come ugly ol’ Prince charles gets romance in his life although he is so ancient that Sotheby ought to auction him’ and other such ‘rain-on-the-parade’ train of thoughts.
St Lovey Lamentine is here to spiritually support you through your blue moods. She works with her gentle motto of: Nothing helps a bad mood better than spreading it around. A mantra learnt from that Ultimate Guru-Calvin.
She is the invisible force that sends happy signals to your brain when you enter into a diatribe against the other road users in a huge bout of Road Rage. She is the inner glow you have when you send Hate mails to your friend’s beloved from your friend’s email id or IM chat window. She is that feeling of calm after you have after you dump your trash in the lawn of that annoying neighbor.
She isn’t responsible for the consequences (of course) but she will let you come back to her with a new set of accusations, bitter curses and tears anytime, anywhere.
In the meanwhile, I am doing pretty well. I should too; considering I just invented the most perfect saint for the imperfect.
Rain.
