The Daily Trope

Antithesis (an-tith’-e-sis): Juxtaposition of contrasting words or ideas (often, although not always, in parallel structure).

I live in the extremes. There is no middle ground in my life. I . . . Either. Or. I am blind to the in-betweens. It enables me to “jump” to conclusions, not plod, not walk, not waltz—just jump. I can remember the first time I jumped to a conclusion. We were standing in the ice-cream shop looking at the display of flavors. My friends were deliberating with each other over what to get. I simply walked up to the counter and said, “Give me a double strawberry on a sugar cone.” The clerk told me they were out of strawberry. In an instant, without hesitation, I said “Chocolate my good man.” He looked at me sort of funny, but went ahead and scooped up my cone. I was outside sitting at a picnic table eating my cone while my friends were still deliberating over what they wanted, as if the deliberating may be an end in itself. But I had it made, eating my cone and listening to my friends blabber.

When stuck in the middle of opposites—like eating meat or being a vegetarian—anything that you face as either/or—jump to a conclusion—grab onto one or the other without thinking at all, for no reason. When people ask you why you’re a vegetarian, you just say “I don’t know.” Stick with that and you’re good. Since you have no reason, your mind can’t be changed. Jumping to a conclusion has made you impervious to changing your mind, although, by jumping to a new and different conclusion, you can change your mind anyway.

But what prompts one to jump to a conclusion? Answer: Being faced with a decision—either/or. No middle ground, just a tangle of conflicted prospects—too conflicted and too tangled to allow closure—like is there an afterlife? Nobody knows. Does that mean you’re off the hook for making a decision. Of course not, but you don’t need a reason.

The best is when you mix with people who’ve jumped to the same conclusions as you. This is especially handy with conspiracy theories. With the appearance of certitude, you can yell things like “Stop the Steal” without even knowing what was stolen. If you can collect a group of conclusion jumpers who’ve jumped the same way, you may be able to foment violence as the dramatization of disbelief—as a play with real consequences.

I must admit I am seeing a counseling psychologist. She tells me I am unable to see shades of gray, or put things in hierarchies by making comparisons. As I did some of the prescribed exercises I realized that I actually wasn’t jumping to conclusions at all. I was in what she called “denial.” My unerring desire to jump to conclusions had clouded my consciousness and blocked out all the “in between” work I was actually doing, making me think I was jumping, when, in fact, I was walking. This new consciousness of my consciousness has made me so indecisive that it takes me an hour to get dressed in the morning. I am working with my therapist to develop habits—repetitive actions that will enable me to face each day armed with what I did yesterday. Now, I rarely forget to put my underpants on first, without pondering. Habits are like jumping to conclusion from a well-worn spring board, that isn’t even noticed.

But now, my therapist tells me I am a psychopath. We sit in chairs with wheels facing each other. We move toward and away from each other in our chairs based on what we say. I told her I wanted to kiss her and moved toward her. She said “no” and moved away. I kept rolling forward,. She kept going backward until she hit the wall. I kept rolling forward and wrapped my foot around her chair. She couldn’t move. Then, I backed up. She came toward me. I didn’t back up. She jumped into my chair, put her arms around my neck, and kissed me.

Now I am proud to be a psychopath. My car’s vanity plate is PSYCHOPATH. I have a t-shirt that says “Psychopath.” I have “psychopath tattooed on my chest. My screen name is “Psychopath 22.” My coffee mug says “Psychopath.” I’m all in!

I haven’t killed anybody yet, but I’ve got my eye on the school crossing guard at the middle school. His “Ho, Ho, Ho” demeanor fails to mask his authoritarian character when he holds up his stop sign that makes the children flee across the street. He is evil and eventually I’ll get around to killing him. In the meantime I have him under surveillance.

I married my therapist and she has great hopes for me as a remorseless crazy person.

Definition courtesy of “Silva Rhetoricae” (rhetoric.byu.edu)

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