Aren’t Positive People scary? Not the genuinely positive ones, who quietly get on with making silk purses when the man unexpectedly comes with the sows’ ears; you’d never even know that purse-making was their thing. I mean the loud ones. The ones who broadcast incessantly about how Positive they are, and how everyone else isn’t. Them. They are either single or flounce around pronouncing the word We as if it had magical properties, and generally own more candles than is usual. Those guys. They scare me.
I’ve owned dreamcatchers, and have – on and off – been guilty of possession of crystals down through the years. When life is at its least enchanting, I’ll grab anything and rub it if I think it’ll bring me luck. Of course, crisis past, logic and rationale return. I know there’s nothing at the bottom of the garden; I don’t even have a garden. In general, I’m a solid old stick who doesn’t believe in nonsense. I enjoy the idea of the balance (ie it’s a fair cop) of karma. Other than that, I believe in certain nots: not being disrespectful, not being lazy, not being late, that kind of thing.
But then the tree-people come out and bless this and that and shake twigs over your dinner and never get angry because “I’m the type of person who doesn’t get angry”. I wouldn’t trust them as far as I could throw them, and they’re pretty hefty, well-acquainted as they are with the cream tea (after which they read the leaves); I couldn’t throw them very far at all. Never trust the type of person who refers to themselves as a type-of-person, either: this smacks of too much time spent thinking about what type of person they are for imagined interviews with Psychologies magazine, and not much else.
Usually, they’ve turned to New Age as a refuge from old rage. They’re fuming, even when there isn’t a hookah in sight. They go into denial when an issue could be resolved early on and easily, and wait until it hubbles and bubbles into something enormous. Then they can explode with scarcely-hidden glee, and gloat about how angry and upset everyone else is, mumbling about how they should all get in touch with their own inner…whatever. Oh dear.
Being positive actually means being unpopular sometimes, at least not syrupy sweet; it means nipping bad shit in the bud and moving on with fresh, cleared air. Being Positive means everyone is just beautiful…an angel…a magical wondrous faerie delight…until they say one thing the big P doesn’t like, and then they never speak to them again. In a big, pink Positive Poof! they have been made to vanish.
I hear there’s a very lucrative living to be made, lying to people on the phone about being able to hear their aura and telling them there’s a very happy time coming up. They hear what they want to hear, you’re kept in dream-catchers; what harm is there in that? I’m just never convinced it’s harmless… That said, I did read a very encouraging horoscope yesterday. God, I wish I believed in them. Or God.
