I’ve taken some pretty hard whacks from my friends this evening for my natural proclivity toward being negative. *rubs sore spot and glares*

It’s genetic! I swear it. You should all meet my family someday–most especially my father’s side. There are glass half-full people and glass half-empty people, right?

Well, in my family, the glass is half-empty until you knock it off the table and it smashes. When you try to pick up the glass, you cut your finger badly enough for stitches. While in the hospital you pick up a lovely bacterial infection. After a horrific allergic reaction to the antiobotic, you’re stuck in a hospital bed with puffy eyes and a yeast infection. Housekeeping moves your bed ten feet to the left so she clean up the coffee you spilled–and no, they won’t give you another one. The candystripers, who are analyzing last night’s episode of American Idol, mistake you for the patient who was supposed to be ten feet to the left and take you up to surgery, where they amputate your right leg. The next morning you wake up and get out of bed to go pee. But your right leg’s gone, so you fall down, hitting your head on the metal bedside stand, knocking over that day’s ration of coffee, and die.

“Why don’t you go watch TV or something. You probably won’t get that part in the school play anyway.” Or “I’ll do it myself. You’re just going to screw it up, Shan.” Or (and this is my favorite) “I don’t know why you bother. Nothing good ever happens to us.”

Really, I’m surprised that I’ve actually submitted things, been rejected and submitted again. *g*

How did I get to be friends with a bunch of optimists, anyway?

I don’t know, but now when I hear “Nothing good ever happens to us,” I say “Speak for yourself” because look who I have in my corner