One body, many selves...

Sometimes, I really envy Pickle. She knows just who she is, every moment of every day. Here she is, at my feet, as usual. She has usurped that place from Boo, who is old and crotchety a lot of the time, and refuses to get down from the bed after all the trouble it took to get up there. She was watching itty bitty things flying around in the bits of light in the room just before bedtime, while I noodled away at something on the computer. She feels no need to say "excuse me, I know I am not being particularly intelligent here", as I would. Truth be told, there are times I feel kind of superior to the world at large, like on really good hair days or when my outfit feels singularly together. And there are days when I feel all fluffy and stuffed into my skinny jeans anyway, grateful I don't have to see my bottom, and sorry that others do. Neither of these persons is ME. Honestly, will the real me please stand up? Real happiness lies in forgetting about me at all, focusing on the wonder that is the world around me, all there is to know and appreciate. I understand why folks like Mel Gibson and Lindsay Lohan are so miserable. One would expect that celebrity, wealth, and beauty would be more than enough to feel good about oneself. And when it isn't, how disappointing that must be! At some point, they may be fortunate enough to wake up and find true happiness, where it has been hiding all their lives. Deep inside. Or, perhaps, just lying at their feet.