fill that half empty glass until it's half full

hey, today was an okay day.

Four of the six words in the above sentence rhymed.

I’m a poet; I know it.

I tend to visit 43things primarily when I’m feeling down. I promise to be elated the next time I write an entry.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me; I’ve always been the saddish type, but I’ve recently hit a down spell. I was so grouchy at work today; I slammed books around and got teary-eyed for no reason at all. Then I smiled and felt like an idiot and thought about what a fucking good life I have and what a bitch I am to not appreciate it. Why is monotony so excruciatingly painful? It’s impossible to explain to people; they always ask “what’s wrong,” and all I can say is “nothing,” when I really mean is “everything’s wrong, please punch me and make it go away.”

What glass? It’s all liquid—slippery, amorphous, uncontainable, and fucking everywhere.

I’ll be the first to admit that I often make a big deal out of nothing. But on the other hand, it seems to me that the most traumatic crises are often rooted in the ostensibly ordinary.

The “worst” of things is usually not spectacularly terrible; in fact, all that spectacularity seems somehow overdone and contrived—as if we’re going out of our way to make a big deal out of something so that we can somehow suppress some deeper issue.

Perhaps more significantly, I’m quite convinced that what’s truly troubling lies in the everyday—the internalized routines of this and of that; the values to which we implicitly and unknowingly subscribe, merely by virtue of our not speaking out against them.

Woolf said it best: “It’s not catastrophes, murders, deaths, diseases, that age and kill us; it’s the way people look and laugh, and run up the steps of omnibuses.”

I am a sickeningly cheery person when I’m at work. Granted, it’s good to be upbeat when you’re working in a customer service environment; but sometimes I want to slap myself until my voice loses that high-pitched chipperness.

Yesterday, I was telling this co-worker how much I enjoyed sarcasm and cynicism, and she looked at me as if I was crazy, and said, “You? Sarcastic? But you’re so happy!” Err… right. That’s a laugh.

I’m still trying to decide if this multiple personality syndrome is a skill, a flaw, or an inevitability.

I feel as if my “things” aren’t so much what I want to do as they are what I wish could happen. There’s a subtle yet distinct difference, an active passivity of sorts.

Didn’t feel like hanging out today and had contrived a pretty good lie—but forced myself out and survived.

Was pleasant to mother over the phone.

Researched “back up” schools and found two that I liked.

Drove on the median to make way for an ambulance.

Received snail mail of the non-commercial variety.