And How Does That Make You Feel?: A Freudian analysis of my blog

What would Freud think about all this blogging nonsense?

He’d probably say that I didn’t get enough love in my childhood, therefore I have penis envy, and my id is now perpetually searching for approval and pleasure using this silly bloggermajig.

Basically, I’m fucked. Hysterically fucked. 

But I jumped the gun a little bit.  Please, make yourself comfortable on this here leather couch and we’ll get started.  Ahem.

I am anal about most everything, including blog posts

I obsess over sentence structure.  I obsess about what might sound funnier than some other word or phrase.  I am a proud member of (or sad slave to) the grammar police.  As soon as I finish a blog post, I not only begin refreshing my stats page every few seconds, but I also begin to obsess about what my next blog post will be about.  How can I make this thing perfect?  Yarg.

According to Freud, based on my above behavior, my blog is stuck in the Anal Stage of psychosexual development.  No wonder I have never ceased to grow out of my love for poop jokes.

My id, ego, and super-ego battle it out right here in my blog

My id is the childlike, impulsive part of my psyche that wants – craves – blog hits, glowing comments, and to be Freshly Pressed, like, NOW.  My ego is the conscious part of me that signed up for this blog and keeps feverishly drafting blog posts as a way of fulfilling my id’s unconscious need.  My super-ego is constantly fighting with the other two, wanting the posts to be perfect, showing that I am a good role model, and editing myself into something socially acceptable, whatever the hell that means. 

With these three parts perpetually at odds, it’s amazing I get anything done.

So far I think my id is winning.

Free association and the unconscious

I write blog posts about what has been on my mind lately.  I usually write in a stream of consciousness style, and then it’s only a matter of time until my super-ego steps in and needs to organize and edit.  Because I start out a post without too much of an idea of where this shitstorm (poop reference intended, not Freudian slippage. you’re welcome.) is headed, I often surprise myself by where the post ends up ultimately.  Just how a session would be with a stuffy psychoanalyst, each blog post is written against a literal blank slate (minus all the cigar smoke-haze).  The nice thing about my sessions with this blog, however, is that it doesn’t keep asking me and how does that make you feel?

I talk about my ladyparts a lot

From Freud’s perspective, women are silly. They cannot help but focus on the fact that they don’t have a penis and all the power that goes with it.  My question is, how does this principle apply to me when I only have one ovary and like to make jokes about it?  Perhaps I have testicle envy instead?  Indeed, this is why I value courage and balls above most other things…excluding my daily ration of ice cream, of course.

Although, Dr. Freud, you are one to talk.  You know what I learned today?  Your middle name is Schlomo.  Schlomo.  After some free associating and a brief investigation on urbandictionary.com, I totally get why you were obsessed with your manbits.

—–

So, where do we go from here, doc?  I hope I get to be hypnotized to do the funky chicken whenever the microwave goes off!

What’s a microwave?

Sigh.

[He jots something down and hands me a baggie.]  Do three lines of cocaine and call me in the morning.

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