It could have been worse

Why is it that when something bad happens, rather than get upset or angry I start listing all the ways it could have been worse? Is this an optimistic coping mechanism? Or a way of avoiding being hit hard by the seriousness of the situation--denial?

My second reaction is to thank God it wasn't worse, for giving me a wake up call before something really bad happens. I think that should be my first response, my only response. Dwelling on what could have been doesn't do me any good. I know this, but my mind tends to go there anyway.

Why do today what you can put off until tomorrow...or the next day

I am wildly unmotivated. Every so often I get a burst of energy and start getting things in order. But mostly I'd rather do nothing more than sit. Or sleep. I don't know if this is due to my tiredness in general or if I am losing my neat freakiness. It concerns me a tiny bit, my utter apathy. But I think it concerns me more that it DOESN'T concern me. What happened to me? To my to-do lists and schedules? To my organized life? Children, of course. I'd much rather watch them than wash dishes. I can blame them (especially the charming little one) for my tiredness and lack of motivation. But they are also a convenient excuse not to dust. Further, I would much rather have a messy house and cute kids than a lonely clean house. Maybe someday I can have both the kids and the clean house. I'll put that on my to-do list. If I ever have the motivation to write one.

Looking for the tarnished lining

In my life before I was married with children, I needed to work harder at being happy. My mantra was "take great joy in small things." I prided myself (and still do) on noticing things other people might overlook--a tiny flower, a pretty sunset, an unspoken good deed. I loved reading funny anecdotes in Reader's Digest or watching comedies on tv. Anything to make me laugh. And I loved making other people laugh. I was a reasonably happy person. But I had to work at it. Not a bad thing, really, to perpetually be on the lookout for things to bring me joy, but sometimes wearing.

So I find it strange that now I look for things that make me unhappy. I don't really go around searching for negativity. But now that I truly AM happy, without having to work so hard for it, I am afraid of something taking my happiness away. I have a ridiculous belief that as long as there is something I am unhappy about, the things I am happy about (namely, my family) will stay safe. So when something upsets me (like this house, or our rude neighbors) I almost sigh in relief. When everything seems to be going well, instead of enjoying it I worry about what is lurking around the corner. As long as there is something aggravating, I can let myself feel happy. Crazy, I know.