Chicken Little and the Tall Poppies

Most days I feel like everyone else knows what they are doing and I am the only poor slob that is running around going “Ack! The sky is falling! The sky is falling!” I often feel like everyone else is on this track for 100% perfection, me – I’m just trying to be OK with the idea that I’m still trying to sort out my life after all these years. So, you can imagine how being in this environment wears on me. I get really exhausted listening to other people tell me how great they are. If you’re that great, do you really have to TELL me that you’re that great?

Sometimes I wish I had (a) been born during the age of Enlightenment and (b) as a guy. Why? Because during the Age of Enlightenment, women were still property. For all that I really like being female, it would have worked out even worse then. Why the Age of Enlightenment? I thought you’d never ask. Because it was “cool” then to talk about ideas, philosophies, big thoughts. I feel like my brain is clawing at the sides of my cranium trying to get out. Logically, I should invest this intellectual energy in the care and feeding of my paper – but it’s not that sort of intellectual energy. It’s this floaty, three feet above the floor analysis of life, the universe, and everything.

OK – I’m going to carry on depressing myself with the plight of the Buddhist Monks in Myanmar while swooning to Vivaldi and drinking my coffee. By then, my lunch break will have concluded itself and I will return to the bright & cheerful land of e-Apostilles and SMART Cards.