Let Me Be Frank, I'm Turning Over A New Leaf

Have you ever tried to totally reinvent yourself? To smooth out all of your wrinkles and overcome your short-comings all in one leap? It isn't easy. I know. I've spent two weeks trying.

For the past two weeks I've been trying to perfect myself and add something to the world besides two warped children and a sizable lot in a landfill. I have achieved a small success here and there.

I have been trying to make myself over in much the same fashion as those makeover shows that Flannery loves so well and I have managed to make some headway.

You might have noticed that I have been a little absent as of late. Trying to perfect oneself tends to take more time than I have allotted and jumbles up my schedule more than I thought. I have taken a page from my neighbor Frank's book and thrown myself into gardening as a way to ween myself from my many bad habits and the fruits of this effort have yet to be seen.

The waiting for me to be perfect was too much and I reverted to my old ways, and that fills me with a sense of shame. I have not become perfect in two weeks and that seems to be as much time as I can devote to any one thing. I got a Rubik's cube for my birthday once and solved it with the help of a screwdriver. I think that says something about me, but I can't imagine what.

So I've been trying to be perfect and today I had a major backslide. I called off work to help a neighbor paint and install his 1950's style fridge and downed several whiskey sours, not to mention a few beers while doing it. I ate my weight in BBQ pork rinds, mixed nuts, Doritos & Pringles while doing it. I really slid today.

I've been spending my time outside planting flowers for the past two weeks in the vain hopes that this would provide me with an avenue to keep me away from my bad habits of smoking, drinking, and not eating, as well as giving me quality time to spend with my aforementioned warped children. I went to bed early, good and tired, and rose with the break of day to do some more productive work.

At some point, I lost my way.

Perfection must be one of those things that rich people can afford, as I can't seem to muster enough time and money to achieve it. Perhaps it is much like the snipe hunts of my youth. It is something you spend all night in a bean field hunting with a burlap bag in hand, only to discover at sunrise that what your have spent so much time hunting something that doesn't exist at all and you are left holding a smelly bag.

Maybe it's just me, but does success smell like burlap? I just wonder what I'm doing wrong.

Doc