Regret

Over the weekend, it took me the good part of an hour to hang Christmas lights. Christmas lights in October, you ask? My patio has been in dire need of additional lighting, and I figured these lights could add a festive appeal to my otherwise dreary cement slabbed "yard". I had my doubts that tiny quarter inch squares of velcro could anchor the weight of the bulbs, but after failing miserably with double sided adhesive tape and refusing to drill holes in the awning, velcro was going to work, darn it. I moved the heavy mirror closet door aside, which has called the patio home for a few too many weeks now, and reached way down to give my new lights electric life. Ta da! Nothing. Each bulb could have lit on fire, and I woudn't have known it, 'cause the bright sunlight overshadowed all other feeble attempts at emitting light. I had to wait until dark to see if my efforts were in vain.

That night, I had an audience in my brother to whom I could unveil the colorful new outside decor. We plugged that sucker in, and all but one red bulb did their job. A small setback, but not enough to burst my bubble. My brother re-installed the lone infidel and we gave it another whirl. BINGO. For the past few days, coming home and catching a glimpse of those lights has made me crack a smile just before entering my home.

So how is it that a realist (okay, I'm a pessimist, who am I trying to kid?) can muster enough out of character juice to string a few strands of hope together and then hang the better part of her life on it? Is it because all other efforts to find happiness have failed? No. Is it because I've been deluded into banking my future on futile investments? Gosh I hope not; I'd like to think I do my fair share of homework. Is it because others have taken advantage of my naïveté and taken me for a ride? I'd like to think I'm a decent judge of character. Maybe I'm not as much of a realist than I had thought. Maybe I'm just a fool.

Last night, the Christmas lights fell.