A Don Quixote Interlude in the middle of yet another pointless workday...

Yup, it's Saturday.

Here's a question I ask myself all the time: Why am I ultimately an optimist?

After careful consideration, my answer: Because I have no other choice.

It must be a function of my DNA coded tendency to rebel. I would rather die laughing than live succumbed to all the negative “-tions” that surround us: repression, depression, oppression, resignation, competition, aggravation, etc. Life provides plenty of ways to grind us down, deplete us, annul our spirits and extinguish the light and heat inside of us. I say, just say no. (I wrote that in lieu of what I would actually say, which while accurate and emphatic, some might find graphic and offensive so I'm trying to be a little considerate here...)

I’m no Pollyanna, lalala life is wonderful kind of person. In general, I can be pretty cynical, devastatingly pragmatic, a hardnosed realist, and bitch and moan more than most people I know. I also find it hard to be trusting much of anyone or anything. Some of the time (a lot of the time) things suck, and rightly so. I'm ok with a pig being a pig and not trying to convince myself or anyone else it's just a big dog with a really funny nose.

But in the end, when all is said and done, I choose to be optimistic. Who says the forces of darkness gets to have all the fun and all the power? Not me. But then I have a problem with any dictating authority, be it social, natural or cosmic.

So, optimism. My creative response. As long as I have that, I have a choice and I have a chance. Am I right? Who knows? It works for me.

And at the very least, the sound of a crashing windmill, even if it falls on and crushes me is a glorious cacophony.

Hope everyone has a great weekend, the windmills fall loudly, and spare you to tilt at some more.