Being Honest with Yourself

It's the weekend and I've had a revelation. It's called "Being Honest with Yourself."

Revolutionary, no?

I had this thought while I was sorting through old books, high school papers, award certificates, college acceptance letters, yearbooks, and unfortunately, my adolescent collection of Beanie Baby bears - you know, things that have no real value except the vague, often fabricated memories we assign them - and I picked up my copy of Tina Fey's Bossypants and read a selection. And I thought "Wow, Tina's writing is exceptional because she can take a situation and write so honestly about it", and it's that clear self assessment and acceptance that allows her to be hilarious. She admits that she has "triannual sobs" at work due to emotional fatigue, but asks if that's really so bad? Especially when she compares it to the time some gay m en spend finding a "doggie hotel" for that a two week vacation to Milan they've planned with their partner.

So I'm going to take this time to honestly admit some *mostly harmless*truths to myself. Please indulge me.

Jocelyn, you are not going to be "the best writer the world has ever seen" because get this: ALL YOU'VE WRITTEN SO FAR IS A SILLY LITTLE BLOG. And why do you even worry about it? There's no "best" because we're all so different. And all that fear of doing or saying something that might be taken the wrong way. You're even afraid to write the f word (see! I couldn't do it!). But guess what? Here's something you've actually said, out loud, to other people, who have remembered and reminded you about it, possibly making you the most obnoxious person on the planet:

"There'll be no dick in my butt unless there's blow in my cunt."

Dear God woman?!? What is wrong with you?! And why do you think that's funny?!?

Moving on.

Also, being honest with yourself: Why are you so insecure? Those skinny "banana legs" you had in elementary school, that fleshy, fan-like nose, and nonexistent butt, they've all transformed into an acceptable, moderately attractive (read: non-deformed) female person. It's about time your mental self got into shape as well. You are on this earth, extraordinarily blessed with family, friends and opportunities. You're only alone when you're floating around in that crazy mind of yours. Share yourself, whatever shade it might be (hopefully you can come up with witty things to say that don't evolve genitalia); see the acceptance and embrace the rejection. LIVE WOMAN, LIVE.

Don't you like how I've turned into my own psychologist? It's a bad habit I have. To prove it, I will leave you with some crazy shit I wrote in May of 2009:

"Recently I've been on a stimulation kick (no drugs involved thankfully; what type of girl do you think I am??). I feel a flooding desire to exercise or bake something or chew ice. Those aren't bad desires in themselves, but I feel like I have to do them right now and feverously. Then when I'm not on a stimulation kick, I feel like my brain is floating in my skull, a lifeless and worthless mass. Is this odd? I don't think I've experienced this odd type of self-assessment before. I feel discontent."

Eternally yours,

Jelly