Perfection

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I am amazingly imperfect:

My thumbs are miniature
I have a vampire tooth (just one)
My face is crooked
My body is crooked (right side = larger)
I have my dad’s temper
I am obese (still) by society’s standards
There are disturbing, crazy hairs (whiskers) that only appear on one side of my face (tweezers = instrument of the gods)
My mind drifts in bizarre ways (i.e. worrying about strange, probably ridiculous things)
I have a paranoia about all things medical
My thighs are the size of small island nations
My stomach, likewise, could be its own mapped land mass
I have a uni-brow that I fixate on (i.e. pluck daily)
I self-diagnose, daily (see: medical paranoia)
My hair has been thinning since the age of 25
I look tired often (another dad carry over) – I ❤ make up
Sometimes I curse like a sailor
Sometimes I have road rage and wish other drivers immediate death
My upper arms… Oy
My feet are different sizes (again, see crooked commentary)
I am only a closet activist
My ears are different shapes (one Darwin’s earpoint – not 2)
I love, love shopping
I have weak nails
I come from a hairy family… :/ I’ll leave it at that
I am forever on Miami time
I am harder on myself than any other human could possibly be

Despite all the imperfections, there’s some level of acceptance that goes on – I believe – with every single (perceived) personal flaw. Even the ones that drive us insane. After 38 years, I don’t know that I have a profound love for every single thing on this list, but I know and understand that they are a part of me; they’re a part of my experience on this planet. In my sick humor, I often embrace them. Improbably, I understand that all of these things (and others) are tiny points of light making up a pretty awesome constellation.

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