As I sit to write, I allow my thoughts to run freely. I start a sentence, then erase it, waiting for my rhythm. I want to type what’s on my mind, but I worry that I’m going to look negative or ungrateful, and so I hesitate. Sure I can force rainbows and optimism, but if it’s to be cathartic and real, it should flow freely. Feelings are fluid. Life happens at a fast pace, and perspectives are often fluctuating. 
I was texting a friend the other day, we were commiserating on marriage difficulties, the news, society’s blunders etc. I texted ‘it is difficult not to become hard and bitter in this world…I get where all of the crabby old ladies come from..they weren’t always that way…or maybe it’s just me.’ To which my friend replied ‘they def were not, life is harrrrrrd.’

Life is hard. 

I am aware that my hard life is far easier than most.  I am aware that my hard life could change suddenly, and send me begging for today. I would not say that I am a glass half empty kind of girl. I was once quite idealistic. These days, however, I find myself guarding my idealism. When it appears, I quickly dilute it with a heavy dose of realism, a pinch of personal experience, and then sprinkle the top with a hint of pessimism. Bake it on the center rack at 350 degrees for 30-45 mins, let cool, then enjoy a slice of cynical pie.

*Interesting where that took me. I didn’t end with a negative slant, although ‘cynical pie’ might sound that way. I feel more amused than anything. To start an entry with no direction, and end it with a recipe of sorts, is an enjoyable experience.