Great expectations ...

Expectations.

They're a total minefield.

We all have expectations for how other people should act, the things they should say, the way they should look ... and we have expectations for ourselves, too.

It's one reason why I don't own jeans -- I have expectations for how a journalist should dress. (However, given that I'm not a journalist on the weekend, I'm giving some serious thought to lowering my wardrobe expectations for the two days a week that at home.)

The same goes for when a writer posts a story -- we expect that our hard work will be applauded, not criticized or ignored. And the more we write, and the more entrenched we become, the more we come to expect that we'll be lauded. And it's a really dangerous position to be in. Case in point: I was disheartened by the lack of initial feedback for Chapter 16 of "This Ain't a Love Song," especially since I about killed myself finishing it.

Anyway, back to the point. When our expectations aren't met, we're disappointed -- both with the people who failed us, and with ourselves for having those expectations to begin with.

For example, we expect our friends to be there for us in good times and bad. We don't expect them to basically cast us aside like a piece of trash when we're going through a hard time. If you're going to throw confetti and be over the moon for us when, for example, we announce that we're pregnant, you shouldn't be too surprised when your total 180-degree turn when we, say, lose the baby, may, you know, be noticed, and in turn, pisses us off.

I'm sorry if people are uncomfortable with the things I have been through in the last year. I really am. But this is my life. And to go from "I'm so lucky to have friends like you" to absolute silence -- it's kind of baffling. And the irony is, ever since she basically told me I'm a fertility failure, I haven't really been talking to my "friend," anyway, but, as petty as it sounds, it's kind of like, "where do you get off acting like you don't want to talk to me -- I don't want to talk to you!"

And really, I shouldn't care. There's a good 80 percent of me that doesn't care at this point. But the other 20 percent can't help but think, does my having had a miscarriage really make me that big a pile of broken glass that people would rather just walk around it than acknowledge that it actually can be put back together?

I guess, in this case, that my expectations were a little too high.

And along the same lines, when we spend a lot of time helping plan an event, expectations are borne of how it will turn out -- and how our hard work will be perceived. So when we're labeled as the bad guy, it's kind of like being sneaked up on and waterboarded. Some of you know what I am talking about here, and while I really don't want to get into it, I'm still pretty hungover from drinking Tang -- and it's been a month.

I am beyond tired of being the fall guy for what happened in L.A. It was my vacation. And I'm not spending my vacation sitting in a room watching a TV show I could watch at home for free. I'm not spending my vacation driving 40-something miles to see a beach that is inferior to anywhere I've been in Hawaii, when I could see Rodeo Drive. And I don't want to eat dinner at the hotel when I'm in one of the coolest food cities in the world. Where else are you going to have organic sweet-potato fries, or $7 ramen that you have to wait 90 minutes to get a table for?

I had a great time on my vacation. I don't regret anything about it -- except having set such unrealistic expectations about what was going to happen. But I didn't know any better. And for that reason, I am not going to feel guilty about going against the status quo and defying other people's expectations. I've spent the last month fighting the impulse to feel bad. If someone wants to nail me to the cross, they're going to have to make room for the other six people who were right there with me, and quite frankly, I don't think Home Depot sells a strong enough piece of wood.

And furthermore, I had expectations, too. I still do -- but I am going to have to alter them if I don't want to go crazy.

I'm tired of drama.

I really, really am. So here I am, saying my piece, and now I can go back to being zen.