Why Being an Optimist Sucks

Yes, I'm seriously blogging about this. Yes, I know it's a contradiction. But contradictions make me funny, witty and super cool, so let's just go with it.

I am an optimist. Now, I know what you're all thinking. "How can that B joke about her kids being a-holes and then call herself an optimist?!" Well, because ONLY an optimist could totally acknowledge a-hole behavior in her child and be like, "Ohmygosh it's hilarious and cute and yes, baby, you are the stuff of true entertainment".

Anyway... Let me start by saying that I used to be a reverse optimist. Which is not quite a pessimist. Let me explain what I mean here... (But first, let me future-apologize for all of you who have heard this story five times a minute. I tell stories. I forget I tell stories. I tell them again. Get used to it or get off my blog. So that's my apology to you.) When I was little and did pig-tailed little girly things, once in a while my mom would be like, "oh hey, we should probably take you to the doctor man and make sure you're not broken" So when it was time to visit the DM (doctor man), I always wanted to know if the "Sh" word was going to be involved. Not that "Sh" word, you weirdo. Why would I be worried about that "Sh" word at the DM's office? I digress... SHOTS. I know every child hates them and everything but I had a little extra anxiety over these bad boys. As in, the moment my poor mother confirmed that yes, I needed a shot, I would start crying profusely. And I wouldn't stop... Until the needle was in my arm. And then... Silence.




I know it sounds all crazy masochistic of me that the shot is what actually made me shut the hell up, but I swear... It was reverse optimism. Like I imagined how mother effing bad that needle was going to feel wiggling around in my fragile baby veins, and then, when I'd actually FEEL the needle, I'd be like, "NL (nurse lady), PLEASE... This is nothing compared to the psycho shit my mind was just pulling on me."

And that's how my optimism was born. I swear. After hyperventilating myself into a frenzy enough times about stupid crap that turned out to be not nearly so bad as my crazy brains made me believe it would be, it finally clicked that most things in life aren't really so bad. But there's a flip side to that...

Enter... Adult me. I radiate things like hope and sunshine and magic fairy dust from my pores! Or something like that. But believe me when I say... I am a glass half full kind of girl. Even when I'm not. That whole fake-it-til-ya-make-it mentality totally works. Like when you ugly cry and then you look in the mirror and smile at yourself and you're like "Wow, if that puffy eyed loser in the mirror can muster up a smile, then what do I have to lose?!" Really though. You know you've done it. You know it works. You do.

So I do that a lot. (The glass half full bit, not the crying at myself in the mirror bit.) And it works for me. Most of the time... But then some of the time - and my husband can totally attest to this - I am over the freaking moon about some idea I have, plan I have, adventure I'm going to embark on, you get the idea... And I tell him that it's going to be rainbows and unicorn special. Like when I was all, "I'm going to do night shift because it's going to be amaze-balls. We won't need as much child care. I'm super human and stay up until bazillion o'clock all of the days anyway. I never liked sunshine. Boo hiss. Vampires are kind of okay. I am going to be goddess of the nightshift and wear a crown of moons and stars and awesome nighty things!"

And then the first night I wanted to puke my innards out, shove ice picks in my eye balls, and crawl into the psych ward where even the walls are made of mattress magic. Then it got better. And I'll put the optimist and reverse optimist on mute for a hot second and just say: I don't hate night shift. I don't love night shift either. But that could just be because I don't really like working. (Come on, who LIKES working?! If you like working it's because you are probably too boring to be awesome at real life.) I also don't like that having a glass of wine at 8am when I get home from work and before I go to bed is not an acceptable thing. It's not even a thing. Just like having a drink BEFORE work is not a thing. So that kind of blows.

But overall... Night shift, it's one of those things that's just sort of okay in a "this is totally mediocre sans the crown of stars and sans the ice pick eye balls". But somethings do wind up being ice picks in your eye balls. But I'm too much of an optimist to talk about those things.

Also... My patient just called me "Turkey." Because she's hopped up on pills and can't remember Theresa. Okay. Maybe night shift is a LITTLE bit crown of stars. But just the kind you only see with your peripheral vision. It's a peripheral crown.

Love,
Queen Turkey