I'm not very good at coping with disappointment. Conversely, I am very good at getting my hopes up. This is not a good personality trait to have. And I have it. Well and truly. It drains far more than what I'm sure is a safe amount of emotional stamina from me and inevitably leaves me in a silent, sad, dejected state. The crappy thing about it is that I know I shouldn't get my hopes up in the first place. Logic and reasoning are quite clearly giving me one very clear and rational message, but then that little so-and-so in the back of my mind, with a creative imagination as good as Enid Blyton's, does what she does best: she grabs hold of any remnant of a wishful thought and proceeds to blow it up like a balloon at an exponential rate so as to leave room for nothing else.
I guess the hopes and disappointments, or the peaks and troughs as my girlfriends and I call it, are what make life an interesting journey (that's the logic and rational me talking). I know we all appreciate the good things more when we know we deserve it or when we've had enough disappointments to even bring Hugh Heffner down a few notches. It's just that at that very moment in time, when the disappointment is so fresh, and so raw, and so real - it's hard to do anything but let ol' logic and reasoning drown in the burst bubble of hope, so promising just moments before.
Troughing. Can you tell?