Some people (and I shan't go shouting out names) have the impression that I'm pessimistic, unhappy and altogether fraught with terminal angst. It is my desire, nay...my duty, to dispel this horrible and vicious rumor!
Here's the problem. And, to be perfectly honest, it's not a lick of a problem for me. It's only a problem for those who don't know me or understand "where I'm coming from." (Yes, that was below mediocre grammar, but I'm taking artistic license here. My 12th grade English teacher told me that it's perfectly acceptable, so bite me.) The problem is, that I actually entertain myself by being bitchy and or melodramatic. I'm kind of a self-contained, one woman acting troupe, and all of the actors are Me!
Maybe it's because my parents never bought toys for me, thereby forcing me into either laying around listlessly conjuring up menacing ways to seek revenge upon them, or into developing my own obscenely saucy and clever little world where I was the star.
Or, maybe it's because my childhood was riddled with events too overwhelming and unhappy for my teeny undeveloped brainbox to process so I learned to use humor as the train on which I would eventually ride out of Crazy Town.
Whatever the reasons, I yam what I yam, and I yam at the very core of Me, a happy, if not slightly goofy (possibly very more than slightly), bit of a girl. I say girl, because I've not quite grown up and into my age as of yet. At least not the real Me.
My alter ego is quite the serious minded and terribly organized multi-tasker who keeps her house as tidy as a pin, her children neat, clean, fed, hugged and kissed, her husband patted on the head, loved, seduced and the bills paid and everything running like a well-oiled piece of domestic machinery. My alter ego is all woman, she is!
But underneath those womanly knickers, there's a cute little pink & white polka dot pair (no...I don't really wear two pairs of knickers, Silly Reader...) emblazoned across the bum with, "I ♥ Geeks." And yes, my knickers really do say that, so you see? You can tell who I really am by taking a peek at my unmentionables.
And where pessimism is concerned, I don't consider myself as such. I do have the habit (and a clever one at that, I think), of always preparing for the worst. My philosophy is that if I've prepared myself for the world to explode in a giant blast of some sort and it ends up only letting out a slight burp, then, woo-hoo! In the event that it actually does end, well then now...I'm prepared, aren't I?! I consider myself to be optimistic about the prospect of the possibly horrible inevitable. But trust me, if the world does come to an end and you've been flitting around like a jolly little Polly Anna, it's my door you'll want to come banging at. My cupboards are fully stocked with enough toilet tissue and canned goods to keep a small army happily clean on their undersides and properly full in their bellies for quite some time.
Let's assess for a moment. Have I covered everything? Oops. No. The notion that I might be unhappy hasn't been dealt with yet. Right-o.
I am not unhappy, although I'm not always happy. Get it? I can't very well walk around with a grin plastered to my face now can I? That would just be a flat out filthy lie! The point is, that I make a conscious choice to be happy and even when unhappy things happen, it doesn't diminish my ultimate joy which lies at the core of Me. Yes, I may bitch and moan and behave in a most melodramatic fashion, but again...it's mostly for my own entertainment. I soon get over it and laugh at myself and think, "Silly Girl! That behavior was quite unbecoming. Now shape up and get on with things!" And I do.
Terminal angst. Let's get to that one. Utterly and irrefutably not Me.
Flashback eight years or so and it was my photograph there beside the words, Terminal Angst, in Mr. Webster's dictionary. Life was a wretched wreck and the Humor Train had been long since abandoned and an entirely different train had taken me straight back to Crazy Town. Flashfoward a few years, and it's a different life completely. Almost as though I'd stepped into someone else's beautiful silky slippers, unbeknownst to them, and assumed their enchanted identity. Amazing what a year or so with a Buddhist therapist, a divorce, some serious chutzpah and the right partner can do!
There. I think we've covered it all.
In my February blog titled, Getting to Know Me, I listed out several things that I thought might help one, well...get to know me. You will quickly surmise when perusing this list that, "This lady is a right nut job," but I suppose there's a lot you wouldn't know about me after reading that list as well.
It can be difficult, when reading one's blog, to determine what the true nature of that person is. After all, the computer screen behind which we all sit and type is a most excellent disguise.
So, here I am in all my glory for you to have a look at and spin around and take a gander at my knickers.