I read a few days ago that "blogs used to be called diaries and were written by twelve year old white girls." That was discouraging. Not that I blog much - actually I hardly ever do - It was just a confusing experience for me since I always had thought that on the inside I was a eight year old black kid and now I find that I'm a twelve year old white girl. Go ahead and shake my world why don't you. Revelation.
Anyway, that acts as a brilliantly smooth segway into the real guts of this post, namely, I've just realized how cynical I've gotten (can I get a collective nod and sigh). I've gone through a lot of viewpoint swings, well, really only jumping back and forth between two - hating everyone and everything and planning to change my major to Antarctican Hermitization Survival and loving everyone and changing my major to Social Work. But I'm really not talking about that. I've gotten to the point where I can see the mood swing coming and just get an intensive sugar high and watch Spongebob until the worst passes (see book for details: "How to Conquer Menopause - a Marine's perspective." My book. I'm not a marine, but it lends it a certain amount of flare in my opinion. In stores now).
Cynicism. We all fight it. I recently saw an article which assessed America's happiness index as being the lowest in the world. The highest? China. They do it right over there, "BE HAPPY OR YOU DIE!!!" It works. (see book for details: "Secret to a Happy Family - or - My Sweet Betsy - My Grandaddy Hunted Squirrels with You." My book. Just a 22. Recommended highly. In stores now). Of course, the survey was done by North Korea. But they were number two. A country that happy wouldn't lie. Would they?
I'm becoming a cynic. cynical. cynici. cyniciptus. I used to think that the majority of people would act at least civilly, then I went to Walmart the day after Thanksgiving. Ruptured my spleen. Had to call 911 myself. Had to drive myself to the hospital after the medics abandoned me to fight over a 73" 3D LCD. All the doctors were out so I had to perform the surgery myself. The worst of it? I still owe the hospital over a hundred grand. Insurance doesn't cover anything on the day after Thanksgiving. It's in the fine print.
That was the first of many instances. Frightening times really. Tore me apart (see book for details: "My Broken Heart - or - In Stitches - My Dance of Death - or - Rehab - A Decade With Dr. Drew."My book. Multiple titles sell better and prevents banning. In stores now).
I look back at my former, happy go lucky, self and wonder, "(reverb up) how could I have been so foolish?" But it's ok. I learned a lot when I was weak, about periodic functions and landscaping. But now I know. I know that twelve year old white girls are cynical creatures.
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