Sometimes I question...

...how I am not in a mental institution talking to myself yet.

People do this to me.  PEOPLE. And stress. Caused by people.  And other things-but mostly people.

See here's the thing.  People are competitive little crapheads.  That's a word...and if it wasn't...it is now.

I try to do my best.  I engage in undercover competition.  You know, comparing my own accomplishments to my previous accomplishments, goal setting, etc.  It's the kind of competition that doesn't annoy the crap out of other people, because I'm not bragging and flexing all of my competitive muscles.

And the internet swoops in again, to remind me that I am not alone.

Another interpretation:

This is what I think you look like when you brag.  It doesn't look good does it?
THAT'S BECAUSE YOU LOOK STUPID.
Just in case you weren't getting my point.
Also, MUSCLES.  Long caption.

Dude, you look like you had a fight with the tanning bed and lost.  Stop it now.

But it's people like that that become so self absorbed that they have to brag.  THEY HAVE TO TELL EVERYONE.  Dear friggen people: I don't care.

And when I do, it's not about what your bragging about- it's about my mental state should you continue bragging and deteriorating my brain activity.

By the way...

...This is actually what you look like.  I like this picture better.

See...I don't find it necessary to brag incessantly simply because I know I'm awesome.  Oh yeah, I have my moments of low self esteem.  Ask my boyfriend, he'll tell you.  

I'm not an overly self-deprecating or an overly self-absorbed person.  I'm somewhere in the middle.  I'm confident.  In some things and not others, like most people.  Like average people.  People who have nothing to brag about.

And the thing is, I'm confident enough to not have to brag to everyone about every little accomplishment.  Because trust me, they are there.  But let's be honest- you don't care.   You're not likely to care now, or later, or ten years in the future.  So why bother?

I'm a generally content person that gets done what they need to get done. Sometimes I do it well.  Sometimes it really is nothing to write home about.  And that's okay.  Because I've come to terms with the fact that no one cares about my silly little life and my silly little accomplishments.  Because really, if they did, we'd all be carrying resumes everywhere....

"WORKED AT SUCH-AND-SUCH FOR 3 AND HALF..."

"COMMUNICATION SKILLS"

"GOOD TEAM PLAYER"

"EXPERIENCED IN FRENCH FRY MANAGEMENT"

Can you imagine what a mess that would be?  All that competition?  Everyone's blood pressure would be through the roof.  And we would have no one to blame but ourselves (and possibly McDonald's).

Plus, I feel like my resume/brag sheet would read more like an epitaph:

Jenny Wallace

Did a whole bunch of crap and died before people cared.

1990-?

Ain't there some truth to that?  Who ever did anything that people acknowledged before they died?  Let's face it- being dead is "in" for art, literature, whatever.   You know why that is?  Maybe the work was good while they were alive, but giving them recognition would give them cause to brag...and no one wants to listen to someone brag.  No one.  That's why we wait until you're dead to assign an exorbitant amount of worth to your artwork. Duh.

So bear with me.  I'm going to get all of my bragging out at once....

Totally off topic... but hey it's MY blog...

Everyone seems interested in my new hair color too. Big friggen deal.  But As you can see, it doesn't look like much from the webcam.  It goes red in the sun though, which is pretty sweet.

But still...

It's just hair.

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I'm still waiting on my llama.