You’d think a twisty malcontent like me would have given up on hope a long time ago. Yet here I am, waiting patiently for it to arrive and bracing myself in preparation of the tumultuous steps to follow:

Step 1. Greet it like the underfed, dolled-up star of a craptastic, made-for-tv movie:

Rolling.

Hungry young woman enters frame.

Smartly clad in a long-sleeved tracksuit despite the late summer, SoCal desert location.

Slo-mo runs towards camera with arms outstretched, shoulders rolling in perfect figure-eight motion.

Gold necklace ablaze with a prism of sunlight because the assistant director never bothered to edit for continuity.

Too much lip gloss.

Scene.

Step 2. Succumb to the state of indomitability it brings and all of the requisite illusions:

“I’m not tired.”

“I don’t get tired.”

”I’m at the top of my game. Holla.”

”Twelve unopened self-help downloads can’t be wrong. Team Kindle!”

“I’ll see your work ethic and raise it square in the ass.”

“I have unprecedented style points AND edgy taste in music.”

“I slay deadlines, get shit done, and pump out solutions like a vat of Mr. Bubble at a jet tub sales convention.”

“I’m a team-player-self-helper.”

“The reward is in the work itself.”

“I’m better than all of ‘em.”

Did my eyeliner smudge into half-moon circles under my eyes?”

(in best Baby Jane Hudson voice) “You coulda been better than all of ‘em.”

”F**k Kindle.”

”Oh, wait. I’m not wearing eyeliner.”

Step 3. Catch offhanded glimpse of reflection in mirror. Watch illusions shatter:

Step 4. Wash away residual bits in a salty bath of cynicism, bonus rinse with bottle of gin optional:

“Twelve unopened self-help downloads lying stagnant in the cloud can’t be wrong. MAGIC, Blanche.”

“You know what Cosmic Slop is, Blanche? “Having a Funkadelic-fueled, dance outburst and drawing on your eyebrows at the same time.”

Step 5. Wait for it to return and faithfully repeat steps with the implicit certainty of a hair care routine:

“Co-wash. Repeat. Don’t rinse. Protect those ends.”

Why am I waiting for hope? It’s certainly not out of reverence for platitudes, high-horse sanctimonies, and other variations on a theme of lies, lies, and still more lies:

“When a door closes, a window opens!” My bedroom window shutters are presently duct taped to the wall because the hardware went missing during the last renovation. You’ve no audience here; shut it.

“Something better is always on the horizon!” Kindly see above.

“Things always work out for the best!” Let me help you out here. Not only will you often get more than you can handle, the end result will not necessarily be commensurate with the effort you exert or the prowess of your work ethic. I don’t care how studly you are.

“Cleanliness is next to godliness!” So vaccinations, antibodies, probiotics, and the state of one’s blouse after dining at an exceptional Ethiopian restaurant are all indicators of moral bankruptcy? You’re soaking in it.

“Everything happens for a reason!” Bless your heart.

I used to gauge the progression of my life with a series of urgent tasks and rigid deadlines.

The tasks were characteristically fat, cheeky, overblown, boorish, but they eventually wizened up with time. When the last deadlines eventually fell away the landscape was redefined. Less urgent. More languid. Peaceful.

These days I often can’t remember why I’ve walked into a room, recall a simple word, or finish my thoughts without devolving into an involuntary, awkward round of Win, Lose or Draw.

I hope to claim my space. I hope to own my story. I hope to speak my dignified peace. Someday.

Sometimes my mother rouses from sleep and doesn’t remember what a room is, or the year, if she has any children, or how she takes her coffee.

I hope for her reprieve. Someday.

I’m confused. I hope to feel lucid. I’m exhausted. I hope to feel energetic.

Did I mention I’m vain?. I wanna look “all kindsa cute” when I feel up to it, which really isn’t all that often anymore. It seems I need to get out of bed for that one, and right now that task feels like an awful lot to carry. One foot in front of the other, right? Someday.

So here I am, waiting for it to arrive and bracing myself in preparation of the tumultuous steps to follow.

I’m still here.

Bracing myself for the tumult. Waiting.

Hopeful.