Hello, pleasure, my old friend

Pleasure: One's wish, will or choice.


The only thing worse than my inordinate fear of pain is my inordinately inordinate lust for pleasure. I pursue anything that makes me feel better -- or that I perceive makes me feel better -- with a ferocious intensity. I like to feel good and I don't like to feel bad. This is called the All Sugar Diet, a particularly intense subset of the All Desert All of the Time life philosophy. I like Moon Pies and I loathe Brussels sprouts. Cheesecake is pleasurable -- tofu is not. Ergo, bring on the cheesecake! There are no chinks in the armor of the All Sugar Diet. It is the perfect philosophy for good living.


Regrettably, the universe is not set up to allow me to gorge continuously on pleasure. We have these damn pain receptors, and troublesome areas of the brain which cause us to feel guilt and loss and regret. Not the way I would have set up things but I wasn't consulted when the gods on high were putting everything together.


The moral of the story -- vague as it may be and hidden under a ton of blather and misdirection -- is that what I fear is often good for me and what I crave is often not. To make matters worse, I usually can't tell the difference. I have this tendency to climb on the hamster wheel and chase pleasure and run from pain.

A bowl of oatmeal, please.