“Honesty is the Holiest Disease”

June 4, 2007 by Avy.

EDIT: Warning. This is probably not something you wanna read. But then again, maybe you do. Who cares, it’s my blog and I’ll whine if I want to.

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It’s really hard to not compare yourself to other people sometimes.

I’m not super interesting or appealing. I haven’t been to France, Italy, Isreal, or even Canada. I don’t drive because I’m skerd. I can’t properly cook a fillet mignon. I can’t cook anything without spilling something. I don’t build things or garden or speak anything as a 2nd fluently. I’m not a 30 or 40 something. I’m not married with kids. Or looking for casual encounters on the internet. Or geting wild and sexy with my pseudo-bisexual girlfriends. I don’t send naked pictures to my ‘friends’ or tell them I long for their touch. I don’t cook and clean all day bored and daydreaming of a better life with prince charming and all the debutantes in pretty gowns off to court. I don’t have short legs or perfect tits or a big round ass. I don’t know who the 3rd guitarist is [insert rand punk/metal band from 1976-86 here] was or whether he/she died from alcohol choking or a heroin overdose. I don’t do drugs. I don’t starve myself. I don’t talk about things I should talk about and I do talk about the things I shouldn’t. I don’t have tons of tattoos, piercings. I don’t hang out at swanky bars in a slinky dress & sling backs. Mommy and Daddy don’t take care of me. I didn’t get a Bachelor’s degree. I don’t finish most things I start. I’m good at a lot of things and great at nothing. My only skill is understanding things to a painful degree. I was honest with the wrong people. I’m secretive because I have to be.   I’m fat — not phat– and I don’t find it attractive. It’s not healthy and I work to change it and complain outwardly WAY less than inwardly. I am self-absorbed because I have to be. No one is looking out for my best interests and it’s a cliché-ridded dog-eat-dog world. I have absolutely no hope for the future no matter how much I smile, laugh, giggle, pun, dance, sing or fart. It’s taking too much energy to even pretend anymore and what’s the point. I make new friends, only to hang out with them once and never call again. I like the old and don’t have the patience, energy, time nor (most importantly) desire
to seek the new. I don’t want to. Life should be good because I’m good. I’m haved. Life should be fucking sweet because I say so. But it’s not. Sometimes I think of doing really mean things just to feel even with other people. Then I remember how much work it took to not be an evil, vindictive bitch. I sometimes think about that stupid “Because I’m Awesome” song and giggle. I pretty much hate beds. I hate cell phones. I hate webcams. I hate the internet. I hate email. I hate people with fucked up relationships who spread the fucked-uppedness to others’ relationships. I hate lying. I hate one-sided honesty. I hate envying happy people. I hate animal shelters, dog breeders, and the entire fucking state of Maine. I hate knowledge. I hate caring. I hate music.

I love me. I’m flawed. There’s need of a major OS upgrade. I have work to do and unrealistic goals, pipedreams, whatever.Unfortunately I know it’s a bad habit to hope, yet I do it anyway. That’s kinda like being hopeless if you think about it.

But I’m me. I’m pretty much old faithful with a lil bit of old yeller thrown in. It kinda sucks. And this isn’t low self-esteem talking. I know how great I am and can be. It’d just be nice to know it were enough (in general).

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