Low Expectations

Do you see those wires crossing, above my house, and ruining my picture? I hate helter-skelter wires, stretched across my skylines. Don’t people know they can go under the ground? The local electric company just put in mammoth poles, beginning on the corner to my left. Yes, those are my toes.

I’ve decided to lay down: to take a pedestrian stance.

And why not? Expectations are just a fight in the making. A fight, with others that could care less. And what’s worse, a fight with myself. I never win either one, so I surrender.

I prefer a benign existence.

I have a wedding to go to tomorrow. Two hours before my appointment, my hairdresser called and said she was sick. WHY ME? I should have known. It always happens. I’m screwed at the last-minute. Most people could just go to any hair dresser, but not me. I have issues. OCD, PTSD, panic attacks, and an inner child with a split personality. There’s nowhere to turn.

After having a melt down at New York Nails, while Miss Moon, changed my nail color, I decided to wear a hat.

Who cares?

After having just watched 70 episodes of Trailer Park Boys, I’m convinced that everything is going to be alright.

I’m pretty sure I’m not going to get drunk and run into any garbage cans. I don’t have the burden of selling a truck load of stolen grocery buggies, and I’m grateful I got past the tenth grade.

If I just smile, don’t fall down and remember my own name, in other words, lower my expectations.

Everything is going to be alright!