Saturday, September 04, 2004


It must have been a couple of years ago that the blog phenomenon exploded at my job. At first it was only a few intrepid individuals whose blogs were religiously read and re-read, discussed, etc., but slowly it became a company wide epidemic. I was at first fascinated, and then disenchantment and then curious. The rapidity with which it infested the people with whom I work somewhat startled me. Shy and reclusive by nature, I never gave much thought about starting one myself, but as I continued to read more and more blogs, I started seeing them for what they really were. Therapy.

The thought occurred to me while I was listening to a friend of mine talk about how her therapist is full of shit, but that it helps her to talk to him. I mean, lets face it, for most of us psycho-analysis is expensive, and most of us have at least a passing knowledge of the main theories upon which it is based. Furthermore, as more and more psycho-analysts are turning to psychiatrists to prescribe those ever delicious happy capsules of blue-skies, the whole trend, no matter how interesting, is simply beginning to die. Poor, unfortunate and cynical, the desire to vent has turned a potentially lucrative Freudian monopoly into the blog. Seriously, how many of us actually want to here that we hate our father/mother, love our mother/father, have repressed desires, and that the original conflict originating in the social microcosm of our home lives has now graphed itself into our essential social apathy. Isn't that all a given anyway, or is it just me?

If my original hypothesis is correct, and more and more people are turning to blogs as a sort of massive group therapy, then I think that the plain fact must be that for some reason we are all incredibly fucked up. The world has definitely changed since pre-Freudian times, but Jesus, has it become so bad that a large part of the population needs serious help? I kind of sympathize with my old man, either we have been put through hell, or we are nothing but a bunch of whining bitches. Perhaps too much Poke Mon has made us all mildly schizophrenic, I don't know. However, in lieu of all of this, it appears that this may be my first desparate plea for help.

So, here goes - My name is Mr. X, and I have a problem, (stifled sigh), with ... just about everything.