Any way I look at it, I’m neurotic. At least a little bit. I would like to believe that I’m of the hammock-swinging, lemonade-drinking variety, but if there is any of that there, I’m fairly sure it’s out of sheer exhaustion that stems from my neuroses. Most people read between the lines, but I read in between those lines. I practically use a magnifying glass to find my paranoias.
I will now attempt to give myself some credit: I do tend to control myself reasonably well. I don’t go stalking people. I don’t hack into people’s emails to try and decipher what is “really going on”. I don’t threaten, manipulate, scream, or violently attack (verbally or physically) upon so-called discovery. Instead, I write a blog. And a very benign, vague, and totally nameless blog at that which means that even the people this involves can’t identify themselves in it. At worst, I have sparked paranoia in others that they are, in fact, included. (You’re not.)
I’m now going to write a miniature list of things that I could do without: Acne. Having to clean because other people are lazy. The general idiocy of the grading system in Physical Science 100. My beloved car, Cookie, costing a vast amount of money. Reading poetry on the majority of occasions. Fat jokes. Ex-anybody who affects my relationship in the present. People complaining themselves into oblivion simply because they have homework. (I want to send these people away for a summer to Uganda or Darfur and see what some people are up against, they will be begging for their Economics exams.)
And that was deliciously negative. So on the flip side of the coin, I decorated my quaint apartment last night to the tune of old Christmas records and am pleased to announce that my miniature Victorian Christmas tree was decked in such a way as to make me believe this is the best Christmas decorating job I’ve done in years. I also ate my fill of Dutch cookies that I made and didn’t do a lick of homework which filled my heart with much relaxation, that somehow just didn’t make it over into today.
All in all, life is good. It’s just not perfect, but that’s perfectly alright with me.