I’ve done this before (again, no comment needed) but I tire easily because I don’t understand why they get $$ for a 50 minute hour and only ever seem to offer, ‘and how does that make you feel?’ [my girlfriends at least offer wine with that, FOR FREE]
(TANGENT ALERT)
‘Well, Bob, it makes me feel like taking a tire iron and bashing their useless head in’.
‘Oh’, says Bob, ‘And how does THAT make you feel?’
‘Bob, I’ll be right back, I need to get something from my trunk.’
So, I’ve been seeing AnotherBob.
And I learned something about me this time.
I have an addiction.
It is hope.
It’s not HealthyHope. It’s sickhope.
It’s the one that makes you stay when you shouldn’t.
It’s the one that makes you justify something that is unjustifiable.
It’s the one that makes you crazy and end up hating yourself.
It’s the one that causes you to believe something that is unbelievable.
And you put your sickhope glasses on every time your start to see or sense something in someone, or something, that you don’t want to know/deal with/believe.
And then you run/breathe/work/live like you can call it into being – by sheer will.
Trust me:You Cant.
My BFF, Karen, has a beautiful life altering mantra:
No expectations, No disappointments.
(TANGENT ALERT)
Another friend of mine holds to the sentiment: Under Promise Over Deliver – unfortunately what that really translates to in that particular life is Never Promise Never Deliver – lonely, but safe.
I’ve thought about pursuing Karen’s line of reasoning but I have the same trouble with it that I do with fasting (which is why I don’t): I become so obsessed with not eating, that I forget why I’m not, and what I’m to be doing with that space in my life.
The more I focus on expecting nothing, the more my focus moves to what I expect – which, OF COURSE, increases my disappointment… over stuff I shouldn’t be counting on from another human. (which is a crock for another blog).
So I decided that I was going to be Hopegnostic – I won’t believe or disbelieve in Hope. And I will step aside and appreciate another’s pursuit of it, or not.
(and yes I realize that it’s sickhope I should do away with not HealthyHope: think baby/bathwater.
So, I walk through my kitchen this morning, tidying up from the beautiful chaos of a school morning, and see a little black square on the floor beside the fridge.
It’s a teensy tiny magnet from a magnet poetry set we like to have fun with…
I turn it over:
and I know, without a shadow of a doubt:
I’m not ready to.
