After I finished my most recent blog I realized that, in making light of the attack of Bloggers' Brain from which I was suffering, .....(actually the truth is that I had fallen into a very deep spell of depression from which I am just now emerging) I had once again relapsed into the dreaded Pollyanna Mode. For those of you who haven't a clue as to what that is I can only shake my head sadly in recognition of your pitiful deprivation and do my best to enlighten you.
Pollyana was a poor l'il ol' orphan girl in a novel from the 20's or, perhaps the 30's. She had the odd habit of never accepting disaster for what it really was and always making it into something for which she could be disgustingly grateful. i.e. the most glaring example I recall was early on in her life as she was looking forward to receiving some wonderful Christmas gift from the Church Gift Barrel and when her turn came all that was left was a pair of crutches. Instead of tearing her hair, rending her flesh and screaming, "Not fair....why me?" and a few choice epithets, she drew the ragged tatters of herself together and bravely opined that she could be Glad, Glad , Glad that she had received the crutches because the wonderful thing was that she didn't NEED them. She became known as the Glad Girl and was, of course, outwardly admired and probably secretly detested because, how the hell much of that saccharine crap can a small town take without having to find some spacious place for everyone to frow up. As I remember, I guess that town could actually take a lot of that crap because I think there were a number of sequels and 3quells after the original book. However, I cannot tell you why or how it happened, but apparently the Glad, Glad, Glad message must have wormed its way into my psyche at a very tender age because I have found myself, at many wretched moments in my life, falling back on a somwhat similar philosophy.
Often I am not even aware of what I am doing, but when I catch myself at it it always shocks the hell out of me to find myself bravely making brownies out of what is obviously nothing but a pile of bull pucky. I have always felt that I have been so damned lucky in so many ways that it is shameful of me to protest, rant, rave and wail when things happen to come out not so hunky-dory now and then. It seems so mean spirited and immature to complain so I find myself resorting to what I call the Pollyanna mode and finding some rather far out reasons to be Glad rather than to let fly with what I consider the perfect response to any disaster.....something I learned from my dear friend Dorothy which has served me well for ever so many years.....an utterance perfect for the complex occasion such as when accidentally applying hammer to thumb instead of nail or the simple case of stepping into doggie poo........the exquisitely crafted and so satisfying phrase, "Oh, Shit, Piss, Fuck !!."
If Pollyanna had ever known Dorothy, I have a hunch she might never have become known as the Glad Girl, and consequently, neither would I. So, for the record, even though I may have made light of my plunge into the dark pit of Poor-me-ness what I really meant to say was....Oh, Shit, Piss Fuck !.
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