Having gone, over the past one and a half months, through the five stages of grief …
- Denial (“No, no, no, no, no! It didn’t happen! Couldn’t have happened! Noooooooo!” *plugs fingers in ears* LALALALALA!)
- Anger (“Dammit! Why did this have to happen to me?!”)
- Bargaining (“Dear God, I’ll do anything. Please please please …”)
- Depression (“I. Don’t. Care.” *wails*)
- Acceptance (“It happens. It happened. I’m alright. I think.”)
… I am finally ready to revise my definition of irony. To quote myself,
The Clueless Dictionary
Irony, n. – When you are sitting in an almost empty library, studying for an exam when everyone you know is already done, and contrary to what has been happening the last week or so, you neither fall asleep nor do you spend every half an hour checking your watch to see if it’s time to leave yet; when time actually passes by without you knowing it, and not once during the specified time does it ever cross your mind that you could be doing so many more interesting (and less tedious) things with it; when you realize that this sudden feeling of contentment and happiness is for a module you took because you didn’t have any other choice and you had to take something to fulfil your minor requirements and when you realize you never feel this way about the subject you’re going to earn your freakin’ degree in.
The revised, (unfortunately) experienced Clueless Dictionary now defines irony as a situation in which you write the above paragraph and then two days later proceed to miss the examination for the much-loved subject because you forgot to re-check whether the exam was in the morning or the afternoon, thereby earning yourself a D+ instead of the sure A you were originally counting on.
I’d end this post with with a “*headdesk*” like before, but it just seems woefully inadequate now.