Pretty F***ing Awesome

I am pretty fudging awesome. Nope, I haven’t done anything specifically magnificent. I didn’t fix world hunger or cure cancer. I haven’t yet figured out how to end homelessness or stop the Kardashians from taking over the planet with their whiny diabolical plot. I have managed to just be me.

At some point, when you are faking normalcy and confidence, you stumble upon the actual thing. Bit by bit. Piece by piece. I am not completely confident in all things life related. I still leave dishes in the sink from Sunday night’s dinner only to be washed on Tuesday when I actually have the courage. I still eat sugar when I say I shouldn’t. I still think the whole room is staring at me finding flaws like: over sized boobs, disproportionate butt, possible Santa belly (sigh). I still get overly excited by stupid things like Sponge Bob and zombies. I’m flawed (severity depending on the day and the outfit), but I have managed to finagle my way to okay with that.

Not sure how or when it happened. Not quite sure I give a shit. I just know that I am finally through crying over spilled, spoiled homogenized milk. I am now delighted by the very real possibility that I am okay. I am okay. It feels good to say that–err write that–without abandon. I am okay…and on top of that I am pretty effing awesome!


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