As of today, my last post has 48 likes. I’m sure to some that’s nothing… and to others it’s something. To me, right now, knowing I have barely been here for months, it’s definitely something.
Do people actually like me? Okay, let’s not get carried away.
Granted, I don’t even know if all 48 of those likes actually read my post. Or if they actually liked it. But still, they bothered to ‘like‘ it. [I’ll stop using the word ‘like’ now.] They bothered to acknowledge me. Forty-eight people. That’s something. Especially when you consider the fact that on an average day, excluding those in a customer service role where acknowledging me is required (read: Target employees and the dude who sells me coffee), three people acknowledge me. And they’re all related to me. Okay, maybe two. Sorry… I may have exaggerated when I said three.
Anyway… [I hate how often I use that word…]
I haven’t posted here regularly since last April’s A to Z Challenge. Before that, many months passed without me being around much. The last time I posted serial fiction was the final chapter of Back to You which ended on the first of September 2017. No, that’s not a typo. 2017. It has been over two years. It has been 852 days. [Yeah, I know it’s insane that I counted.]
One of my problems, if I want to call this a problem, and I’m not sure I do, is my inability to write. Sometimes I have plenty on my mind but getting the words down is problematic. Sometimes not knowing what to write is the issue.
Or maybe it’s not knowing what is okay for me to write.
I’m trying to please the wrong people. Because the right people, or person, is me.
A wise man once told me to write what sandra thinks… not what sandra thinks other people want sandra to think. (Yes, it was you RR. Maybe you don’t even remember… but I do.)
However, I’m afraid to write what I’ve been thinking. Maybe afraid isn’t the right word. Ashamed? Embarrassed? Or maybe, yes, afraid. My head is not a fun place.
It is because [prepare yourself for a shocker] I lack positivity.
[Aside: Why does autocorrect, in WP anyway, always tell me that positivity isn’t a word? That’s fucked up. Although I suppose positivity doesn’t exist for me so maybe WP knows me. Like Google knows everything about me. Officially freaked myself out now. Maybe I should ask Google what to do.]
So… positivity. Am I off-putting without it? If I am, so be it because positivity is not my goal. Maybe it used to be but no longer. I don’t want it. Not that being positive isn’t a good thing, but striving for it is obviously counterproductive for me. Doing that has only made things worse. Not only have I never become more positive despite my best efforts, but because I ‘failed‘, I have, in fact, become more negative.
I believe that for some people, positivity is never going to be their thing. And that’s okay.
The sooner I accept that, the better… because I’m so fucking sick of banging my head against a brick wall. I’ll never crack the wall… only my head.
[Would I even be me if I became the picture of positivity? I think not. I like my sarcasm and cynicism. I’ve been told it’s ‘charming’. No, really, I have.]
There’s a book I started to read because the title grabbed me immediately. Now, I’m only on page 6 as that is as far as Amazon would let me read in the ‘Look Inside’ view. But I already like this book. It sounds a bit like I wrote it. Okay, maybe not, but it sounds like the way my mind works. Ready for the title? Brace yourself. Here it is.
The Antidote: Happiness for People Who Can’t Stand Positive Thinking
And I put it on my Christmas list. And now, nine days after Christmas, here it lies beside me.
I’m still on page 6.
p.s. — Totally unrelated but… I have been watching Lucifer on Netflix, and well, I’m in love with the devil.
©2020 what sandra thinks