finally, you have found

Yesterday, I had terrible thoughts. I had poisonous, cynical feelings stewing under my newly chopped bangs and I was seconds from foisting them on you people. Seconds.

And then Escape came on on my iPod. And really, you can't be the least bit of anything but happy when you belt out the lyrics (because you can't do much of anything else.)

Yes, I like pina coladas. And getting caught in the rain.

I just didn't have the heart to continue exuding my venom. Rupert Holmes saved you all from something very terrible.



This blog is really almost nauseatingly optimistic, because I tend to write in it when I am happy, and doing happy things. I have been doing happy things lately, and I hope that continues, but I just wanted to let the world (the one that reads this, anyway) know that I do not have a serotonin imbalance that causes euphoria like that lady in Grey's Anatomy. Obscure reference aside, I have moods, like normal people. When I write, though, it's generally to spread my good feelings, (hopefully) spreading such loveliness among others.

Besides, why would you want to read a negative, critical, and generally angry blog, anyway?



I will be very briefly critical once today, and that is of a cultural phenomenon that has resulted in something known as the Cinderella complex. I'm not going to talk about it in the medical sense, as it is normally used. Pretty much every cultural medium has enforced this idea, so much so that it has infiltrated my brain, too, and I occasionally indulge in whimsical thinkings along its lines.

There's this idea of being saved. That some prince will come and rescue you, and in spite of the odds, see through your outer shell, and sweep you off your feet. I think the problem is that sometimes you can get all caught up in this fairy tale nonsense. The danger is that you come to expect it. And so you wait, and wait. You wait for Prince Charming, and in the meantime, you cultivate a treacherous set of expectations and a devastating inability to see past the end of your nose.

What the hell are you going to get done if you lock yourself in an ivory tower and wait for the one crazy exception to climb up your hair? Who the fuck climbs up hair? I wouldn't want a guy who had an affinity for using me as a gym rope. It's like fishing without a hook. It just doesn't make any sense. Love and life don't come served on a silver platter. You have to get out of your tower and actively pursue.

My point is, life is not a fairy tale. At least not in the way you think it should be. If you know that, you can revel in the little beautiful things in life, and in other people. If you expect everything to be all pie-in-the-sky and sparkly, the real world will be drab, and pale in comparison.

Wouldn't you rather have the fantasy pale to the reality?