Hope is a total bitch. I wish Hope was my friend. I wish Hope was actually some girl I know instead of this nagging, irritating, constant emotion inside me.
I am that girl, the one that is always hoping. Believing in people, believing that the best it about to happen. And frankly, it makes me a nervous wreck. I am the red headed chick from “He’s Just Not That Into You”… constantly hoping, trusting, and making an ass out of myself.
I quote a lot of movies on this delicious blog, well, simply because I love them. So here’s another one that I love … its from “He’s Just Not That Into You”… its Gigi, the red head, the hopeful one… its me.
Girls are taught a lot of stuff growing up. If a guy punches you he likes you. Never try to trim your own bangs and someday you will meet a wonderful guy and get your very own happy ending… But sometimes we’re so focused on finding our happy ending we don’t learn how to read the signs. How to tell from the ones who want us and the ones who don’t, the ones who will stay and the ones who will leave. And maybe a happy ending doesn’t include a guy, maybe… it’s you, on your own… Or maybe the happy ending is this, knowing after all the unreturned phone calls, broken-hearts, through the blunders and misread signals, through all the pain and embarrassment you never gave up hope.
I gotta tell you…. I could have used this information when I was younger. I cut my own bangs a lot and it was always disastrious. The thing about this… is this.. doesn’t it seem to apply to everything? Its not just about hoping for love. I end everyday filled with hope and sure that tomorrow morning is the day that I will leap from my bed early and be ready to tackle the day. Hopeful and trusting that I’ll do something amazing, like cure a disease or invent a longer lasting lightbulb. And every morning… I hit snooze for at least an hour and struggle to even get my simple tasks complete.
At work, I have a meeting and I get so excited because its the best meeting ever and I am sure they are going to give a million dollars to the Heart Association… and then it starts… the Hope. I start to imagine all the wonderful things that we’ll be able to do and I am so hopeful. And most of the time, I have unreturned phone calls, some embarassment, misread signals … but I keep hoping… through it all… until my heart gets broken.
Every January I am filled with hope … hope that I will not hate swimsuit shopping that year, hope that I’ll actually balance my checkbook, hope that I won’t trip when walking (which I do often), hope that my Barista boyfriend will realize that he loves me… until none of it happens… and my heart starts to ache.
And frankly, cosmic void, as much as I hate the disappointment that so often follows hope. I can’t shake the habit of being hopeful. I can’t stop dreaming big and expecting the best. I can’t help myself; the hope high is just too great. And there is always, not matter how tiny, that chance for a happy ending.
So I am going to keep on hoping, keep on riding the Hope high… because I am just not sure I’d appreciate things as much if they weren’t the fulfillment of my hopes.