you know you write a post sometimes and it comes out nothing like how you wanted it to? and you go back and you retool it and you rewrite one section and you fiddle with a sentence and it gets even worse? and you're like - yikes. i would not want to read that drivel. well i had a post, but it stunk to high heaven and i won't subject you to it. what i essentially wanted to say was: the standard for yourself is you. no one else has your talents, your shortcomings, your body, your mind, your past, your heritage. it's fine to look at others lives, what they have, what they have achieved (and where they have failed) as motivation to better yourself, but get to know yourself, figure out what works for you, and set that bar. we are each a bundle of separate and distinct talents and misgivings - be your own standard. try your best to live up to it. and realize that setting others as your standard is a practice in futility. if you're born with a certain body type, mind or talent - figure out what it's strengths and weaknesses are, embrace them and make them the best they can be. learn from your failures, accept your innate shortcomings, focus on where you excel. i think this is especially important for women to know, and i am learning more and more to do this everyday. what do you think?
in other news, as i was lying in bed last night, thinking about how to turn my convoluted writings into something worthwhile (shorter, always shorter), i thought of how strange people think it might be that i (though i suppose that is now a we) still have a stuffed animal in our bed (dumbo, procured when i was five whilst on my childhood sojourn to disney world, which was magical, and do you like how the first half of that sentence was written in the manner of shakespeare to talk about a trip to disney world? me too). he's like a throw pillow to us, just another decoration for the bed, but i think to onlookers it would be a smile and nod type of situation - oh, is that a stuffed animal on the bed of a basically 30-year-old married couple? how quaint. (how crazy). honestly, i would think the same, it's true. but, he is a fixture and he is not going anywhere (sorry not sorry). and this led me to remember that growing up i would be very concerned about the mental health of stuffed animals i owned, and, the mental health of stuffed animals in general. if i was ever allowed to pick one out for a gift or birthday i always sifted through them to see if one had a nick, was missing an eye, was missing tufts of fur and so forth. if one fit that profile it would most definitely be the one i wanted, due to the fear that it would get left behind and feel inferior to the other perfect ones at the top of the pile. so, throughout my childhood, as my collection grew, i would sleep with dumbo every night and have a rotating schedule of who would join us. my stuffed animals were at the end of my bed and each one got a different night, in a set order, so as to feel included and part of the group (i was quite the stuffed animal floozy). this also strikes me as a compassionate, highly type A viewpoint of the world, which is amusing (who schedules their stuffed animals on a sleeping schedule? hilarious but also a little disturbing). and, please, not to oversell myself here - i was mostly a nice kid but i loved making people laugh and sometimes i did that at the expense of others. additionally, if you were an ass to me or my friends you could count on me making a cruel, well thought out comment to bring you down. everyone has weaknesses, i was adept at spotting them, especially if you were a 7-year-old boy. i saved my mother teresa act for my bedroom stuffed animals only, so please don't think i was a kind-hearted, sparkly eyed child all the time. just at bedtime. anyways, i thought i would share that part of my history with you, which came to mind when figuring out how to write the above post. to all the stuffed animals that ever graced my bed: you're always in my heart, even if dumbo is still the only one who is always in my bed.