- If you are reading this post on a site other than Major Bedhead or with Bitacle.org in the address, you are reading scraped and stolen content and you should knock it off immediately. It’s stolen and it’s WRONG.
Fuck off, Bitacle
Inspired by a post over on Bub and Pie, but going off on a tangent, as is my wont.
TCBIM is what I consider a cock-eyed optimist. He never, ever, ever thinks that anything bad will happen. He refuses to even consider the thought. He always looks on the bright side. I find this unbelievably annoying.
I get called a pessimist, although I think I’m more of a realist. I always prepare for the worst possible scenario – I expect the present not to appear, the vacation to be a failure, the car to break down at the most inopportune time. That way, when those things happen, I’m not surprised. If the opposite occurs and everything goes swimmingly, I’m as pleased as Punch.
TCBIM tells me that it makes for a depressing situation, that because I constantly expect things to go wrong, I can’t enjoy myself. I think I enjoy things – probably not with the headlong enthusiasm of a child, but I do enjoy them. He thinks I spend all my time worrying. He’s not totally wrong there – I do worry a lot. It’s not paralyzing worry, but I envision bad things happening on a regular basis. Things rarely go as awfully as I can picture in my head – and believe me, I can picture some total doozies. Doozies that would probably get me locked into a little padded room if I actually spoke them aloud.
I think years of being disappointed have done their work on me. The first one that stands out in my mind involves a dress. It was at Sears and I wanted it in the worst way. It was light blue dotted swiss, very Little House On The Prairie meets Little Women. I lusted after this dress. I dreamed about it. I begged my mother for it. I dragged her thru Sears just so I could go pat it. I even asked Santa for it for Christmas that year. Lo and behold, under the tree on Christmas morning was a long, dress-sized box. I ripped it open frantically and there, in the box, was a dress pattern and some fabric. Not the same fabric, not the same dress pattern. I vividly remember the disappointment crashing over me. I had to leave the room and go have a cry in the bathroom.
I knew, even then, that my parents didn’t have the money to buy me that dress. It was around $50 – $60 and this was back in 1974 or so. I thought, though, that if I only asked for that and nothing else, they’d get it for me. I’d crossed my fingers and wished on stars and hoped and hoped so much and to see that box under the tree – well, I was just giddy at the thought of it. Even today, I can still feel a bit of the sadness I felt back then.
So many other disappointments have followed (my father leaving, my college experience, my first marriage), that I learned, eventually, not to expect anything. To wall off my heart and feelings towards high expectations and to accept that, most of the time, things will be fine, but they sure won’t be the fantastic-ness I wanted them to be.
Now I don’t anticipate anything. I don’t look forward, I just try to enjoy the day, the moment I’m in. I don’t wait for the next good thing to happen. TCBIM does. He constantly talks about when the girls are older, when we have more money, when, when, when. He doesn’t really seem to appreciate the now, he’s always too busy waiting for The Next Big Thing. I don’t know what’s worse: Expecting the worst, but enjoying the now or expecting the best, but only in the future.
He also has a very annoying tendency to tell me to cheer up or to stop thinking like that. Sometimes I wonder if he really knows me. I mean, we’ve been together almost 7 years – you’d think he’d GET it by now – I’m not a glass half full person. I’m just happy there’s a glass.