"Don't wish your life away."
It's something my mother always said to me. I think it comes in the Mother's Handbook. [I'm only sorry that I left my copy at the hospital on the day I took my first born home. Who knew I'd never be able to get my hands on another copy? Poor kids.]
"Anticipate," Sunday Scribblings offers up this week. "What are you looking forward to, for better or worse?"
I don't associate the word "anticipate" with anything negative, only positive. The anticipation on Christmas Eve. The night before your wedding. The days leading up to a child's birthday. The grand opening of a candy store right on the main street in your town. The build-up to going to visit your family for an extended vacation.
That's anticipation. That's excitement. That's the SQUEEEEEEE feeling you get.
As for me? I'm an Eeyore. I don't anticipate. I dread. Surrounded by Pollyannas, I squawk, "Polly is going to choke on a cracker." I fixate on the child getting another year older. On the letdown Christmas morning often brings to an excited kid. On the loss of another summer to a new school year. On the plane inevitably crashing before reaching its vacation destination.
Screw Kilroy. Killjoy is here.
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