Thoughts on Being a Lady Dick

I can no longer ignore the fact that I'm as shallow as the next asshole when it comes to, well, being a person. I know most people reached that conclusion before they hit puberty but my parents tried really hard to make me think I was special, because they are liberals and because they are sweet to a fault-- so it's hitting me late: That shiny exterior I like to embody is made out of all the wishes I have for myself, sure, but I'm a dick. I'm just like everyone I hate, and in some ways I'm worse because I'm a huge hypocrite. I don't recycle when it counts; I poke fun at idiots on personal profiles who leave stupid comments (and I call them "idiots"); on occasion I am mentally cruel to girls who are younger and prettier than me; I love the ocean but I don't even go to trash-pick-up-day at the beach-- and I sometimes wish I was rich enough not to care because it would be so much easier. I eat meat that comes from farms where animals are treated like car parts. I drive 6 blocks to work. I shop at Target. I lie about spare change to homeless people because I want to get the morning crossword and pay for parking for the car that I'm driving 6 blocks in. Etc., etc.

As a result of this lifestyle and perhaps of Al Gore, I often wake up in the middle of the night with a bad case of the Guilty Heebee Jeebees. I will stare at the oscillating fan and imagine my head in the spokes because I do not like who I am at 4 a.m., the hour when everything bad about oneself is magnified by one trillion. I bet Mother Theresa never got the GHJs. I bet she never woke up in the wee hours going, Why the fuck didn't I hand that old lady my umbrella in the pouring rain? I bet she woke up with the opposite, saying: "Thank you, Lord, for making me so pious and lovely that my poop smells like St. John's Wort."

Naturally all signs point to Finding Meaning.

In my search for meaning-- an abstract, mostly stupid idea I cannot grasp without plasticizing its form and function-- I come across very little anymore. Perhaps this is not necessarily a negative thing, I've surmised, for with meaning there comes responsibilities and risks. Risks aren't fun. They are a source of worry, a bothersome hound on your trail. All the What-Ifs that march your mental corridor when you take risks are enough to give you wrinkles, and what good are those? (According to Hollywood's highly regarded Scientific Experts, wrinkles are equal to Waterloo-- Your worth as a human being is Napoleon and your face is the Duke of Wellington. You might have a good go of it for a bit but then Wellington's all up in your shit and you must surrender.) In the end, however, it is the ever present, ubiquitous Meaning that gives us the drive to make change for the better-- right?

So I'll go adopt a hamster and name him Al Gore. That should absolve my stinky-shit self.