Dispirited: so beautifully dreadful.


I thought of this word.


Really, I didn’t “think” of it in the sense I conjured a new word…but I was reminded of it because of some personal travails I’m experiencing.


It’s a beautifully dreadful word, isn’t it?




To anyone with an exceptional comprehension of language and its associated ethereal concepts, this word shafts a pin-sized sword right into the kernels of your gross little soul, doesn’t it??


And because I occasionally do a little “research” for my posts on this stupid blog, I decided to investigate the morass of meanings of “dispirited” and they were every bit the soul-wrenching descent into personal deconstruction I could ever hope.






See, it’s not sadness, it’s not even despair.


It’s dissatisfaction, rather. An overwhelming sense of futility and pointlessness.


When you’re dispirited, your sails are punctured, and though you have enough propulsion to accelerate, you also lack the control to steer. You are adrift. But you’re not sinking!


When you’re dispirited, the highs and their promise is vanquished, but the lows aren’t quite so pernicious as to extinguish the last traces of hope.


Still, being dispirited is no fun because you don’t want to do shit except idle hopelessly and soak in all the beautiful nihilism that makes this fucked up life so tender and special, like a polluted, soiled snowflake.