On Why I'm Not Perfect

I am preparing myself for walkies. The neighborhood is full of surprises which can only be found on foot. Or rather, this is what I tell myself to keep moving. Last night, ten minutes from our part of the duplex, BF and I discovered a cache of amazingly beautiful houses set against the hills, with incredible views of town and ocean. We walked down the street in awe, caught up in the generic throes of materialism and malice. The positive physical good of the walk was somewhat overshadowed by greed - my heart shrunk two sizes that day.

My grandmother died this morning - or last night - the email wasn't clear. Of course it's sad, but she'd had Alzheimer's Disease for the last 12 years. She was also in her nineties. It wasn't unexpected. My mother flew back on Mother's Day to say goodbye. It hasn't hit me yet. Allergies, sure, they've hit me, but not the passing of my last grandparent.

These things come in threes, so what else can I tell you so you'll think less of me? Nothing you can't infer. This blog in one big exhibit for the prosecution.

Let's see, I've never given my cat a bath. (He prefers showers.) I've also never trimmed his claws, but I do let him scratch me regularly. I'm not a good housekeeper. The side mirror on the driver's side of my car has been broken for six years. I'm too cheap to fix it. I check out CD's from the library and rip them, harvest them, for MP3's. And then I don't share. I'm bad at saving money. If I eat too much I just buy bigger clothes. I've never finished a short story I've been proud of, and generally I just don't finish them. Sometimes I'm mean. And, um, I eat babies.

Have a nice day.