Pish, Posh, I hate myself

I recently had a birthday. This is the first birthday that actually depressed me. 30 years old. Don’t be insulted if you are older. Age is completely relative to the speaker, and I am the speaker. I have this passion in my belly to be something, someone. I don’t really think I’ve ever just sat and reflected on what I want to be. It’s not too late, but as always there is a beached whale sitting on my chest. Her name is Bernice, and she smells. And she should, she’s been with me forever. Excuses, excuses, excuses.

So, what do I do? How do I positively contribute to society? First, I suppose I have to kill Bernice and use her blubber for candles. I’ve never been a candle fan, so I’ll send them to you. Just pick a scent.

This is the 1st image to appear under “Beached whale on human”. Pretty sexy, right?

Maybe that’s what I’ll do! I’ll make candles and sell them through this blog site.

That makes me think of how wrong I am right now. In high school I wanted to be a potter. Then I went to a major university and saw the list of required math courses and I thought there was no way that I could succeed. That’s been my problem all along. Doubt, but really just thinking. Doubt wouldn’t exist without thinking. Oh, I’m rambling.

Then for a brief period of time I wanted to be a librarian. The idea of being around books all day was so romantic to me. What happened there? Oh yeah, it required work. Pish, posh, I’m good . . .were my thoughts. What a loser.

My forgiveness I implore! I am beating myself up tonight. I guess in some weird way it feels good to be incomplete. ..  there’s nothing like a fresh, homemade loaf of self-hatred!

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