When I was 13, I dreamt of the day I would be all grown up and forever leave behind acne and awkwardness. Those ailments would be mere memories that grew smaller and smaller in my rearview mirror as I sped ahead into my 20s and 30s.
Well, here I am at 40, and I’m still awkward as hell and battling pimples on a weekly basis. And now I have a whole new set of problems, like a limp metabolism, a crunching knee and heartburn. Who can I address about this injustice? If I get up to heaven, I’m going to have a book full of notes on this stuff, believe you me.
Beginning with mosquitos. Why are they here? What benefit do they provide? I assume not everything has to chip in for a good cause and be justifiable — because, look! I’m still here. That was a joke, and I believe making people laugh is mostly why I’m here. And I give good foot rubs.
But back to awkwardness. Why can’t I say what I mean succinctly when talking with someone I admire? I stammer and stumble and fumble over words. I misread sentences. I jump to conclusions. I add more explosions to the train wreck I’ve already created.
If I’d just take a deep breath, analyze the situation and then respond, I think I’d have much more success than saying the first thing that pops into my mind, which is usually fueled by fear and irrational thinking.
It’s never too late to change behaviors. So while I can’t change the past, I can work hard like Pepto to correct this diarrhea of the mouth and vomiting of emotion.
Until then, bourbon.