Foolish

Every time I start feeling better I get carried away and do something that makes things worse.

That should be a good lesson, but the eternal optimist just keeps thinking, "This time . . ."

After a while I wonder if that is being an optimist or foolish?

Then I wonder if perhaps it is my childish enthusiasm, youthful and hopeful, but once again it circles right back around to foolish.

In the end I decide that the happiness I find in between the pain of screwing up and the joy of thinking all is well might be worth the moniker of foolish.

Foolish, after all, is better than sad, or depressed, or a thousand other things.