The Cynic Is Driving…

My friend has been very concerned that I have may have lost my joie do vivre. In a perhaps futile attempt to reassure her, I tried to explain how the factions on the human psyche are like people in a car.

They are all needed for the journey but only one at a time can be in the driver’s seat.

The Cynic is in the driving seat at the moment.
The Hopeless Romantic has been relegated to back seat passenger status.

She throws herself at life like a relentless bee hurls itself at panes of glass repeatedly hoping that ‘this time will be different’ and that, by some miracle, things will change. This is endearing, perhaps even lovable. Optimistic delusion can be beautiful to behold. Unfortunately, it doesn’t get anything done, leads to further disappointment, and is frankly exhausting.
The Cynic is much harder to disappoint, far more realistic and therefore more functional. It means the bills are paid, the kids are taken care of and responsibilities are met without dissolving into a puddle of grief at the state of the world or embarking on a voyage of self-destruction in a futile attempt to repair one’s self-esteem.

Boring, yes. Hardened, yes. Jaded, yes. But also reliable, predictable and determined to not be beaten. She knows her life will never get easier but she’s not going to acknowledge that in front of people. Oh no. She’s going to pretend she’s fine and satisfy herself that every day she doesn’t fall apart, it’s a big ‘up yours!’ to her ex. Yes, we know she’s scraping the motivational barrel, but needs must.

So the Cynic will have to drive until it’s quite safe for the Hopeless Romantic to do so. Because we all know, she’s going to throw the map out the window and chase the rainbows and unicorns, completely oblivious to any dangers and quite sure that with hope and love and hugs, she can overcome whatever life throws at her.
In the meantime, she’s sitting in the back chatting to the Poet, who doesn’t really mind the melancholia. It’s good for her art, you see.

 

The Explorer is sitting next to them. Bored. And waiting for them to finish with their quests and soul-searching so she can travel the world and throw herself off things.

With a bungee cord, silly. She’s not suicidal. There’s too much she hasn’t seen yet. She reads a lot and looks at pictures of places she’s going to go.
The Sane Realist (aka The Responsible Adult. Get her!) thinks these guys are all  nuts and should probably get out the house more and stop over-thinking things.

She’s scheduled activities such as college, work and socialising to make sure there is some human contact, productivity and perspective.

She is the navigator and all this wallowing and musing is very self-absorbed and kinda pointless, she thinks.

She writes lists and reads maps.

She also takes the responsibility of keeping the  Joker locked in the boot very seriously.

Attempts to keep that mischievous revolutionary mollified with Skunk Anansie and #epicfail YouTube videos are starting to wear thin.

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