Hesitant, Hopeful

This is my third attempt to write an inaugural post for this domain.  So far, nothing has managed to satisfy me.  Why am I telling you this?  Truthfully, I'm telling you because I feel like it's a fair estimation of how I feel on a regular basis, perpetually unsatisfied.

This is the new home of that perpetually dissatisfaction.  Welcome to "The Pretty Pessimist."  If you don't know me, I hope you'll stay and get acquainted.  If you do know me, then you understand where I'm coming from.

I decided, last night, I need a place that belonged to me.  This is that place.  I decided that I needed a place where I wasn't half sold to someone else's topics and links.  I wanted a place that belonged, alone, to me.  Yes, I know I'm repeating myself.  I'm trying to drive the point home, not just for you, but for me, too.

The Pretty Pessimist is mine.  It belongs to me.  This is my promise to myself that it will always belong, alone, to me.  It's perfect, too, because it's exactly what I am.  I'm a pretty pessimist.  I look cheerful on the outside, but inside, it'll always be half-empty.  I don't have half-full in me, I never have.

Now don't misunderstand me.  I have moments of happiness, days of happiness, a life of general satisfaction, but for the most part, they're the minority.  I'm simply not that positive, but that doesn't make me unpersonable, at least I don't think so.  I have an amazing husband and great friends, they all understand and accept me for who I am, pessimism and all.

Ups and downs, that's what I've got, but they're all mine.  Chalk it up to my mental state, a touch of bi-polar disorder.  Chalk it up to my age, a grumpy old lady at 31.  Chalk it up to my gender.  Either way, I am who I am.  Nothing more and nothing less.

Nothing more and nothing less.