WHOOOOOO-----AM-----I?

You know, I can only post so much happy, wisdomy horseshit before my head explodes or I tell my inner Pollyanna and the fluffy white poodle with pink ear bows she rode in on to fuck right off. Whichever comes first. Actually? I'm not going to let either one of those things happen first. Because, instead, I've decided to tell the truth outside the boundaries of Thirty Days of them.

The truth? I'm not awesome. I'm not shitty, either. Well, not too shitty, anyway. While I'm not so great at anything remotely resembling moderation, I somehow manage to be moderately awesome and moderately shitty. I'm pretty sure I'm at least as screwed up as everyone else. And most days that's just fine by me.

Is this some sort of self-love epiphany? Did I go for a long, crunchy walk in the woods, trip over a snow bank, and stumble upon the secret to giving yourself a fucking break already? Nah. Not even. The true reason for this outlook is none other than...sheer laziness. Who would take a walk in this blizzardy mess I call home anyway? Crazy people, that's who. Crazy people who are better than me. And crazy. Just sayin'.

For years and years I dithered around my brain, often seated opposite a therapist, striving to be improved. And I have the bills, some still unpaid, to prove it. I wanted to be improved in ways no one had ever before dared to be IMPROOOOOOOVED.

Oops, sorry. Got to channeling the hookah smoking caterpillar for a second there.

Ahem...I wanted to be so goddamn improved that when you googled 'improved' on the internets, the first thing to turn up would be...



Right.

But then somewhere along the line, a couple of years ago maybe, I got over it. I decided I didn't want to better myself anymore. It's too much work. I just wanted to be as improved and as fucked up as I was at that time, for the unforeseeable future. And, apparently, the present I'm presently rocking is still that unforeseeable future.

What was that I mentioned back there about my inability to do anything in moderation?

The thing about The Things that started to bug me...The Somethings. The eight I've posted so far. Rereading them they make me sound like I'm a better person than I am. I'm not actually a better person than I am. I'm just really good at rationalizing who I am. Rationalizing isn't exactly the most admirable thing to be good at, true, but my flavor of rationalizing is a pithy means to a significant end. That end being happiness. And in my worldview, Happiness = Good.

So, while I might prance around my house congratulating myself for knowing damn near everything and denouncing other, stark raving mad people, don't be fooled. Because ultimately, well...it takes one to know one...



And now, I've got a tea party to go to. I don't want to be late. I'd like to get there before that stupid poodle takes my seat.