I want to be excited. I like being excited. Think of looking forward to Christmas. That's how excited I want to be because I like being excited. It's fun. It's thrilling. It's exciting.
But I don't like being disappointed. Disappointment makes me sad and gloomy. Think of making a special trip out of state to see your favorite band perform and finding out that the show has been canceled. That's the kind of disappointment I try to avoid. That's the sort of thing that makes me frown.
Eight more days. I'd love to put a big, goofy grin on my face and carry my shoulders higher and walk around in a smug, superior bubble for the next eight days, but I can't. I can't, because there is a strong likelyhood that if I let myself get too excited, I will be disappointed. The kind of disappointment I want to stay away from. The frown kind.
In eight days, I hope to find out that I should have been excited all along. I hope I can put my bubble on then. Here's to you, neighbors down the street with a McCain/Palin sign, as I flip them the bird at 25 MPH (using no gas as the Prius cruises in electric stealth mode). How do you like this, Mr. Confederate flag flying asshole? Happy now? No? Rats for you.
I want so badly to be excited now. But I'll have to wait eight more days.