Sometimes I wish my life was not so ironic/tragic.
Stu and I have found a house we absolutely love. It's a one story, brick/brown siding house, 3 bedroom, with french doors leading out to a deck with a spectacular view of the backyard, surrounded by trees on three sides so that nothing else is visible but nature.
We went to look at it closely yesterday and fell even more in love...but just as we were about to leave, the realtor pulled up with a young couple and proceeded to show them the house as we walked away. Typical.
Life is full of irony, and if I didn't laugh at it, I'd cry. I'm not saying the house will be bought or that we won't end up in a better house, I'm just saying...it's just what happens to the Cones. On a regular basis.
Not really...although Stu can sometimes be overwhelmed with the negative, it spurs me to emulate Pollyanna even more. There are good things in our lives, and bad, a mix like everyone else's. It's hard for Stu to see people he was in school with do extremely well with apparently so little effort, although I assure him over and over that everyone has their own path and ours is probably just a little longer.
It's not that we want money, or fame, or success, necessarily. I for one could do without heaps of money. I'm much happier without it. I think what Stu and I both want is a chance to thrive. We both know we have talent [although both of us are rather self deprecating at times] and that we could get somewhere with a little luck/help/push from God/etc.
I just try to remind myself that we can't see the whole story yet, and that I'm sure there are good parts to it. And, after all, there IS a happy ending!
In an escape attempt, I checked out several books from the library yesterday and have been gorging on them. So far, I have read:
The Lump of Coal - Lemony Snicket
The Composer is Dead! - Lemony Snicket
Poirot Loses A Client - Agatha Christie
The Unfinished Angel - Sharon Creech
I've started reading The Shadows [a graphic novel] & Goody Hall [by Natalie Babbitt]
All of this is pleasure reading...I enjoy everything by Lemony Snicket, Sharon Creech, and Agatha Christie, and I've got about 5 more books to delve into...
In an attempt to escape the boredom of my seemingly somewhat monotonous existence [read: when Stu is at work and can't entertain me], I turn to books to escape into fascinating places and to meet people I come to think of as dear old friends...much like my T.V. watching habits.
Sometimes I feel that something is quite wrong with me. Why do I prefer spending time with people on television and in books than with most people? I think perhaps...because it's less messy, and there is no chance of being pushed away. If I want to sit down and watch Willow and Spike, I can. They don't care. If I want to spend time with Charlotte Doyle or Willet Goody or Despereaux, I can, and they won't turn me away.
Being with imagined people is safer than opening myself up to those who could potentially hurt me and so I sit, drinking in the stories of others in an attempt to console myself.
Why, then, do I keep trying to befriend people? No matter if they've rejected my friendly overtures because of lack of time or interest, I keep working...because I want to be accepted.
And that is beyond what the characters on T.V. or in books are capable of.
Acceptance. Honesty. Hope. Truth. Love. These are the things I keep searching for.
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