On cheering on v. cheering up

Kate asked me earlier if I would prefer a partner who would cheer me up when I was down, or one who would cheer me on when I was doing well. (Or at least words to that effect).

I was at work, and a bit distracted, but I automatically said, “both”, followed a little while later by, “but if I had to choose, then one who can cheer me up”.

Now, on the train home from work, I wonder why I chose that.

I think, although I’m not sure, that I can find other people to cheer me on when things are working well.

On a good day, I can even cheer myself on.

On a bad day, I am mostly incapable of seeing or thinking enough good things to bring me back up to neutral, never mind to happy. I’m a determinedly independent climber, so I don’t often ask for help to get out of my hole. When I do, it’s generally because it’s got really really deep, so deep I can hardly see the sky, and have started forgetting that there’s life outside the hole. That’s quite late to ask, and the climb is a long one. Much longer than necessary.

If my partner could do his magic on my mood every time it started digging, I could probably do the rest.

Maybe.

Maybe not.

Maybe I’m not actually that good at cheering myself on.

Maybe, if I had a personal cheerleader, I wouldn’t feel the need to dig in the first place. 

I think I’ll stick with both. That covers most, if not all eventualities.

๐Ÿ™‚

Good question though.

On Babushka and the curse of the holey sock

Babushka, for anyone who doesn’t know, was the lady who wanted to go with the wise men to see baby Jesus (and bring him presents and toys), but who hadn’t finished tidying her house yet, so she stayed behind, promising to follow them as soon as she was finished. The thing is, when she was finally satisfied everything was tidy eough to leave, the snow had covered their trail, and she didn’t know where to go.. Legend has it, she went from house to house, asking if the inhabitants knew where Jesus was (they didn’t) and sometimes leaving the children one of the presents she’d been meaning to give him.

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I, like the heroine of the story, almost always end up running late… Mostly it’s due to trying to do too much before I can leave the house, but sometimes it’s because I have to try on a handful of socks before finding one with no hole(s).

From now on, as I pair my socks up*, I will get rid of the holey ones instead of putting them in the drawer. I expect I will need to buy quite a lot of new ones, but that’s quite exciting – nothing like wearing new socks for the first time ๐Ÿ™‚

Also, and this is unlikely to ever happen for more than a few days at a time, I am aiming to get my house to the stage where I could leave it if I needed to ๐Ÿ˜‰ (Or invite people in without handing out obligatory eye-patches at the door)

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* I don’t match my socks in the traditional sense… I think it’s far more satisfying to wear socks which go together imaginatively, and not identically… like green-and-black-stripes and blue with miniature pandas.. Or blue-with-light-blue-hearts and light-pink-with-dark-pink-hearts.. Or rainbow-stripes and grey-and-black-stripes. That kind of thing. It’s easy when you know how ๐Ÿ™‚