I woke this morning with a thought echoing in my head. Since My Unconscious Is A Douche, the thought was being pronounced in a Shatneresque tone of great portent and significance. And because my douchey unconscious had decided that this thought had an interesting texture, it needed to be repeated. Four or five times. In William Shatner’s voice (I mean, not in William Shatner’s voice, but it might as well have been).
I don’t mind being awoken to curious internal mental phenomena. A few years ago, I woke myself up laughing. Now that is how to wake up of a morning. Really sets you up to not be a grinch for the day. Only a week ago, I came perfectly and lucidly awake at 3.32am, hiccuped three times, and then fell peacefully asleep. This is the sort of peri-somnolent incident which enriches one’s life, adds an air of whimsy or sense of holistic embodiment to it, and generally increases one’s satisfaction with one’s tenancy on this earth (and stops one referring to oneself as “one” to the excessive degree one has just exhibited in this paragraph.)
This morning, however, the momentous thought was
The essence of Man is biscuits.
Biscuits. I guess I don’t really need to say how disappointing it was once I was awake enough to listen in and parse the sentence. If it had been, “The strategic moment is here! Decide, or die!” it might have deserved the echo-pedal. As it was, it was a bathetic moment whose poles were so far apart I hardly knew where to put myself. And this itself was bathetic in turn — metabathetic? — because isn’t the unconscious the storehouse of our unknown passions, our longing for revenge, our drive, our rest, all that is intrinsically powerful and wonderful and intriguing within and of ourselves? Isn’t it supposed to be the case that those moments when we are granted a glimpse of its inner workings are often so profound that we are renewed or remade, change our lives, develop new understandings, heal relationships? And mine vouchsafed to me bathetic biscuits.
My unconscious mind: You are a douche.