What's up, O friend?

My friends! "What's up?" What's that? You do not understand, and you are confused to hear such a colloquialism coming out of me? I do not understand either, but I am not surprised, being that I planned to surprise you! Surprise! Just wait until your birthdays, if I happen to know when they are!

Often the people will ask me, "What's up?" Never once have I had the faintest notion of how to respond. As a result, I simply say, "Hullo" with a silent "H" and wave in the style of either the queen or the pope, for waving is certainly the chief ability of both. It is not at all clear whether this satisfies my inquisitor, but usually he (or she sometimes) continues along without troubling me further. Then I wonder to myself whether my response created the thought, "How normal and unobtrusive of him! He is surely my friend now!" or perhaps, "He did not address the question; therefore, he must hate me, so I shall hate him!" Then I am driven to further concerns, such as whether or not people actually think on those terms, and whether or not answering a colloquial inquiry now bears any less weight than answering a formal inquiry, and whether or not that makes them all colloquialisms or perhaps all formalities. And does formalism even exist at all any longer, and in that case, does colloquialism even exist? Why must they ask me such difficult and confusing things?

"What's up?" you might ask (if it is even a question!). I would answer thus:

'What is up?' I tell you, I am tormented every day by great miseries and misfortunes! I have terrible visions of fires and of rivers of blood and of winged, fanged creatures which devour the flesh of children! All which I attempt fails, and all which is attempted against me succeeds! I wake in the night paralyzed by fear and dread, for my dreams plague me with all manner of horrors! In the day, the light burns my skin and eyes, and the wind claws mercilessly at my face, and every minute I am near collapse from exhaustion and pain. All which I love despises me, and all which I despise clings to my presence. What is up, you ask? The agony of each passing moment is not only up, but in every place!

Then I would ask, "What is up with you?"

Of course, none of that is even close to being true, but having recited such a response I would not be bothered with such meaningless nonsense as "What's up?" any longer. The only trouble with my idea is that it is a bad one.

Until next time, O friends, I embrace you warmly, rejoicing in your presence.