I Love Being Wrong

Sometimes I just love being wrong. It’s probably more than sometimes, actually. It’s probably more like I love being wrong most of the time. As a pessimist, I always hold out a little bit of hope that I’ll be proven a worry-wart and an idiot. The Patriots proved me wrong on Sunday night by whooping the Pittsburgh Steelers and that makes me a happy, happy man.

I’m also happy for Jill, who is a Philadelphia fan. They won on Sunday as well. I do wonder though, now that our teams have to play each other, if Jill and I will be forced to be bitter enemies for two weeks. Hmm…

I didn’t get much writing done on Sunday and I spent part of the late afternoon and early evening feeling quite queasy in anticipation of the game, but I did do a ton of shoveling, which I’m hoping makes up for the lack of walking this weekend.

I played a little of The Sims 2, which I had promised myself I wouldn’t do until I was further along with the writing. But, oh well. I can’t kill myself over every little transgression.