The rain is falling, it's nearly 8 am and it's still dark. The little raindrop-water noises are audible through the walls; as are the tires of the vehicles on the road outside which are made important in their loudness by the wet stature of the road.
My giveadamn is taking the day off to crawl back under the big down comforter and drowsily listen to the rain; where I'll update the Seven Dwarfs in my head starting with my current fave, Mopey, and his more modern tribe of Depressed, Disillusioned, Destitute, Hopey, Witty, and Semi-Selfish ( it is totally acceptable for Semi-Selfish to come out of the closet now, the magazines all say so). Recently, my Hopey got a little big for his britches, and was beaten up by Mopey and the three D's...
See, as an optimist, I come equipped with a very large natural reserve of hope. I'm not all flighty about it, I never expect things to happen until they actually manifest (no pre-hatched chickens for me!) but I always, Always, ALWAYS ~ hope for what I want to happen; and not in a little-kid way. I do manifestation visualizations among other things... The only thing kid-like about my brand of hope, is how fully I feel it. My common sense is always there to say, "uhhhh, we'll see..." like a parent that doesn't want to buy a child the cheapo toy in the checkout line. But my hope... my hope flies in the clouds of possibility, and it flies very, very high; I call it forever hope because it's so deeply a part of who I am that it is literally ~ forever there, waiting for my actions to culminate in all the best of whatever I want to happen.
However, there's a big problem with forever hope. Forever hope is bi-polar without it's meds. I can go along for quite some time being hopeful, and weathering any and all hope-induced-disappointments easily enough to maintain an even emotional keel. Recognizing that what I want may not be the best thing for me at this point in time and place... water off a duck's back.
But every once in a while, when too many hopes are dashed for too long, Mopey comes to call, with his dreary-dwarf-self, and sends my forever hope to bed without supper; which is pretty mean of Mopey, considering that by the time he shows up, forever hope has already been denied lunch.
It'll take a few days before I can convince Mopey that he's an unwanted house guest. I know when he shows up that I shouldn't let him in at all, but it's my process. I have to go through the few days of Mopey's visits once or twice a year. During our visits, I can analyze the things he's pointed out to me and make a game plan to correct them ~ how to proceed from where I stand ~ how to achieve what forever hope didn't get me... yet. But, it's still hurtful in a childhood-dreams-crushed sort of way to have so many things that you're working toward (and hoping for) not work out. It wears you down and numbs you all at the same time... until one day, you're sucking down Blah Tea and Sowhat Cakes during a visit with Mopey, except Mopey is a bully that makes you play games you don't like, and makes fun of you for still carrying hope in your pocket, and he's your cousin and your mom & aunt are having a grand ole time so you can't just kick him out...
Mopey isn't fun, but it's a whole lot easier ~ and better, to endure his short visit and move on, than it is to lock the door and pretend you aren't home. Then Mopey calls his big brother Depression and you wind up with battle-scars and a pair of black-eyes.
Excuse me, I need to refill my Blah Tea and Sowhat Cakes ~ my guest, Mopey is feeling neglected...
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