A Hard Room

There are many times I wish I could go back to my childhood belief system. Life was so much simpler for me, so much happier back when I believed a Supreme Being had my best interests at heart. I felt special, I felt loved, I felt secure. What I'd give to feel that way again! Unfortunately, as they say, that ship has sailed. It sure was a nice cruise while it lasted though.

I have a favourite psychiatrist. And doncha just love the fact that I can begin a sentence with the words "my favourite psychiatrist..."! I'm the only person I've met who has ever said those words!

Her words to me now provide what passes for comfort in troubling times. "A certain amount of denial is necessary for everybody to get through the day."

In other words, if we all actually thought about the garbage we create, the impurities we are busy ingesting, the damage our use of water and hydrocarbons is doing daily, not to mention the chances that we'll get hit by a bus, none of us would ever get out of bed or make it through the day with our sanity intact. I mean really - each flush of the toilet, every bit of shrink wrap... now they're telling us that the stuff used in our tin cans is going to give us all cancer. And the other day I heard that the stats say one in three people will get cancer. One in THREE.

We're killing ourselves. We're killing the planet. We're killing each other. And this without doing anything special, just trying to get through the day!

So when people tell me things like "trust in god" or "think positive" or even "hope for the best," I need all my medications to put a polite smile on my face and make me nod my head appreciatively. I am what stand-up comics call "a hard room."

The latest example of how far gone from happy-ville I am came just before last week's lotto 649 draw. Boyfriend had been visiting friends on the 24th, a Friday, and as everyone knows, Fridays are days when there's a 649 draw. His friends were baby-sitting a doggie, and, as luck would have it, Boyfriend's shoe connected with some of said doggie's droppings.

A great cleanup ensued, with lots of cheerful laughter all round. After all, they said, stepping in dog-doo is lucky! They wanted to know if Boyfriend had bought his lotto tickets, since it was now practically a sure thing he'd win! And a fun evening was had by all.

For a time, even I participated in the joke that stepping in dog-doo was supposed to be lucky. "Yeah! Good thing you bought your ticket!" Etc.

Well, Boyfriend is still not a multimillionaire. When he told me that he'd checked his ticket and hadn't got a single number, the truth slipped out of my mouth faster than I knew what was happening.

"Stepping in dog-doo only means there's been a dog nearby," I quipped. And the next second I wished with all my heart I hadn't said it.

I'm never gonna win a lottery with an attitude like that!