Optimism is a predisposition best served like a volley of tennis balls:
Relentlessly.
I try to be an optimist. My rose colored glasses sit stapled to the bridge of my nose. Ok, maybe the stapling wasn't something too optimistic, but I tell you, with the divorce, grandfather's death, and the wood house blowing down around me, I've had to add some ice and a few fingers of alcohol to make the glass look half full.
You've been reading, which side is the brighter side? The side burning down like a California hillside, or the pale bleak reflective qualities of my barren walls?
Oooh! That didn't sound optimistic at all did it?
The fresh new landscape outside, or the clean slate inside?
I'm gonna have to practice that. I'm still gritting my teeth when I talk. Oh, and my nose is bleeding from the staple. I look less jovial, and more crazed as every day passes. They'll come to take me away any day now..
I need to be taken away. Remember that Calgon ad in the 80s? Where's the bubble froth that can do that today? Exotic paradise springing up around me. Mai Tai to my left, frolicking maidens to my right. Maybe if I add some hallucinogenics to the bath water. That would give me a new perspective. Right now the rabid Pekingese chained to the spigot isn't frothing enough.
"Kick more!"
It's tough. Happy perspectives burst like bubbles around me, and I'm out of suds. "Oh, I think that was a black widow in my shoe! We'll at least it's a domestic spider."
It's tough, I think I've said that already. I have right? Yeah, right up there. Repetition helps. Sometimes if you repeat the good stuff it makes it seem better. Look at President Clinton. He repeated how he never had sexual relations with young miss Lewinski, until everybody believed they didn't want to have sex with her.
Hillary was another matter. Hillary probably held his head in the toilet bowl expressing her disdain and how he would repay her loyalty.
"I want to be president."
"But honey, you're a wom-blub! Blub! Blub!"
"And another thing, while we're here, put the seat down next time, or we'll be here again."
"Blub! Blub!"
Hell, Bill was in a bad place. All it cost Kobe Bryant was a rock the size of a palmetto bug. Hillary was a lawyer, she knows the score. Yet, Bill still smiles. Hillary may own his balls, but he's still got his optimism.
MyUnwife? I don't know. Towards me, I think it's safe to say she's a pessimist. The coffee scalding to the bottom of the pot variety. She would probably say I never did anything for her. She would be incorrect, but that wouldn't stop her from saying it. I did a lot of things for her, and probably more than she'll ever know. It does seems obvious now that no matter how much I did though, I didn't do the right things for her. I didn't do the things she needed.
If good Dr. Morgan amputates my leg, but leaves my gangrenous arm flapping in the breeze like a stinky windsock, how good of a doctor is he really? Sure, he did something, but in this case that doesn't fill the optimism glass any fuller. If I could trade the 3 fingers of scotch for a shot of morphine before I pass out that sure would be rosy though.
The whole argument is moot anyway. What does it matter now? Who's gonna benefit over what I did right or wrong? Does it help me to pat my back and go "Welp, at least I tried."
Sure he did something…
It's self-defeating and rots away the optimism like tooth plaque. It's gingivitis of the soul. And I need to floss it away everyday. I need to find something make my day. Each day I need to find the sun. Some days it's gonna be like Where's Hoffa? But I need to make it as obvious as the nose on my face, even if I have to staple it there.
Just a little Bactine will clear that up.
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