confessions of an imperfectionist

Right now, as you read this, I have a pimple the size of Texas hanging out on my cheek, probably because I ate an entire block of sharp cheddar cheese in a 48 hour period.

I still love myself.

Right now, I am writing this instead of getting dressed, hair wet, breath smelling like coffee and morning halitosis, because I haven’t brushed my teeth. I’m scribbling it on the back of a receipt, because I forgot to charge my computer last night, and because I can’t find my notebook.

I still love myself.

Right now, I’m 30, and I live in my friends’ spare room, because I am too much of a location commitment-phobe to sign a lease, because I’m gloriously scared of losing my freedom in a normal job, and because I’m afraid if I stay in one place too long I might become bored… or even worse, boring…