It's not that I am a day-in-day-out optimist.  Oh no, in general, I am a pretty negative person. 

Um, moving on.  But there are some scenarios in which the disease rears its head.  The symptoms consist of me convincing myself that it is all going to be perfectly wonderful....this takes place in situations where I REALLY REALLY want something, so I choose to avoid admitting what the reality might could end up being.  No, that's not being delusional.  It's having Disney World Disease.

And if you don't believe me, look it up in your Merck Medical Manual, ok?  geesh.  

The Disease causes you to subconsciously believe that Tinker Bell is flying overhead and spreading her magical dust that will make all of your dreams come true - in whatever scenario it is.  

Just like when I want to go to Disney World.  And I plan the trip to the minute.  And I make the assumption that all will run smoothly and perfection will reign supreme.  Healthy adults take into account what might go wrong with the "plan".

Like, for instance, that it will bloody hot, or that lines will be mind-numbingly long, or that your children will throw tantrums of epic proportions.  But thinking about all of that stuff, why that just takes all of the fun out if the anticipation, if you ask me.

Or like when I want to have a third child and I assume that said child will just obviously be a go-with-the-flow kind of person and will fit right in and cause me no trouble WHATSOEVER. And then William shows up and bashes me over the head with the reality that is his little self.

Or like when I REALLY REALLY want another puppy and so I choose to ignore all of the ways that said puppy

will make my life difficult.  Make accomplishing anything, at all, difficult.   In my mind's eye, she was always either sleeping or entertaining herself or playing with Tilly, our older dog.  Or the kids are playing with her - joyously content in their desire to love and care for her.  You know what?  My mind's eye sucks and I'm going to stab at it with a pencil when I'm done typing this.

She DOES sleep.  We've established that.  So SCORE!  And she DOES entertain herself, true, by EATING MY SHOES, or my chairs or the wooden table legs, or the knobs on my desk.  

To her credit, Gracie WANTS to play with Tilly, but unfortunately, the Devil, himself, has taken up residence in Tilly's canine form:

and she is now wholly consumed with her new job as HEAD SOUL DESTROYER and DOG KILLER, not wrestling with a punk ass puppy, so...that sucks.  

And my children are all just a pack of LYING LIARS who promised on the lives of all of their relatives (hey, sorry guys) that they would do dog duty - and now have to be FORCED with the butt of a gun (no, not really) to take any sort of responsibility for the puppy.  So in between worrying about my doomed relatives and doing all the work myself, I'm a little tired and frustrated.

So, sometimes, in my SHEER desperation to have 10 minutes UNINTERRUPTED to do the dishes or make a bed or mop the sweat from my brow, I whip up a batch of instant mashed potatoes - a small batch.  And I smear it all around the inside of a pot and I set it down.  In front of Gracie.  And she spends those next 10 minutes licking every atom of mashed potato off of the pan.  And yes, sometimes I feel the pangs of guilt that accompany this senseless act of substituting food for love.  But only just a little.

But, herein lies the problem.   I never anticipate just how fun it is going to be to watch her do this.  So I just end up standing there staring.  For 10 minutes.  I watch her lick up all of the tiny mashed potatoes with her tiny little tongue.  And then my 10 minutes are all used up. 

 And at that point, she starts looking around for what to destroy next...

And I'm looking around for Tinkie so I can shove her pixie dust up her nose and spray paint her green dress black.

Here's to another Magical Day!