In fact, morning has dawned with the utter surety that I do, indeed, have stupid written in invisible ink on my forehead. I must have an inability to learn from ANY past mistake. Here I am thinking that I am being kind and compassionate and understanding but instead I have things all completely freaking wrong and just manage to make things worse and upset myself in the process. Whatever. It’s a fine freaking line for me too, and I don’t like it one bit. I do not like to share – at all. Heck, based on my past experiences, HAVING to share makes me really self conscious and paranoid and suspicious. And full of doubt and anxiety, which makes me not pleasant to be around. I am making a conscious effort to overcome that, which is difficult, and I do not think I’m getting any points for that effort, or that it is being noticed at all.

Why is being happy so complex? Should it be?

Somehow I don’t think so.