My car just broke for the third time this week so I'm feeling a little violent. And though I'm super annoyed, pissed off, and @#$%*#$) $%(*@Y$( (@*&$(*@!!!!!!!, I'm thinking it's OK.
See, I've always been this supposedly perfect girl. Good grades, no vices (sorta), star athlete, and sigh, nice to everyone. My f'ing nickname is sometimes Sunshine. Or Kitten. (Though, those in the know know where that one came from.)
So when my bad self emerges--in the form of anger, deviance, impulsiveness or recklessness, I kind of like it. It's so opposite of how I'm perceived--it's kind of fun.
What's the point of this blog entry? Maybe this: It's good to be bad. Texture makes life rich.
I remember discussing the Existentialists back in AP French class, and the subject of perfection came up. And what went down is that it's frickin' boring. Perfection is imperfect in that it lacks substance.
Right. I'm going to hit the shower to um, cool off. And maybe while I'm at it, embrace my bad self. Yo.
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1 comment:
Hope you are feeling better now... Kitten.
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