Pushing Weight

For the life of me I cannot figure out why really happy people make me want to chew glass and vomit Drano exclusively through my nose. I'm not talking about the average drone who happens to be content, I'm speaking of the bubbly, all smiles, so happy it can't be true person. The person who main lines chrysanthemums, and tells you to have a good morning, not because they won't see you again, but because you can expect a good afternoon at some other point in the day. I don't fancy myself exceptionally cynical or dark, but these nut jobs drive me insane. Who hangs out with these banana splits? Being so magically tickled all the time is no more healthy than the person wanting to cut themselves, while sitting in the dark listening to Nick Drake. Both are equally fucked up from my vantage point. I'm happy to play along with the typical greeting of "how are you", "fine thanks". But if one of these confetti spewing love mongers comes at me with a question of my current state, my response will always be detailed and it will always involve Hindenburg level tones of failure and disaster. These positive potpourri's need to know how the rest of the world is dealing.