butter

I am always in a better, more manic mood in the morning. I am not sure "manic" is a positive thing, but "better" is. Better is better. I want to toast my English muffin (wink wink) and slather it with better butter. By "better butter" I simply mean butter. No more of this margarine crap. Oh, and here you thought I was going to say sunbutter! But I will leave my sunbutter for other bread, other lands. I prefer my muffin to be dressed up in a water-in-oil emulsion resulting from an inversion of cream.

Enough about better butter. Let me discover more about my passion. My PASSION!!! Let me begin where I left off. Number 3.

Own your uniqueness.

Ugh. Okay.

Number 4. Kidding, I'll think about number 3 for three more seconds. Let's see. Owning my uniqueness. I think I kind of do that fairly well already. Although I don't own it at work. I am guessing that's somewhat normal for most of us. Like, work is work. Gotta put on that suit and tie and smile and be polite and chat about the weather and stock reports and staplers or whatever it is adults do at their place of employment. I wouldn't know because I am not an adult at my place of employment. Or rather, I don't feel like an adult. I'm not sure I'm even treated much like an adult by coworkers. I just kinda... Show up. Sometimes. A lot of the time I mentally clock out and go through the motions. My favorite part of the day might be recess. I guess that adds to the "not being an adult" thing. That part is okay with me. I don't mind being a kid. I'd rather be a kool kid than a depressingly bland adult. But I would also like to be taken seriously. Perhaps this is the ego shining through, but it would help if I was occasionally acknowledged by my "superiors" and/or if my skills and UNIQUENESS were actually put to use. I feel useless. I feel suffocated. I feel like I have settled. Maybe I haven't. I doubt I would still be at this job if it wasn't for the endearing youngins and the convenience. I know most jobs require one to "put on their work hat" and slightly alter their personality. You know, you don't just show up to most jobs in your flannel cat pajama pants and begin to crack crude knock knock jokes with your hip boss. (Not that this would be something I'd ever want to do if I could, though. I don't even own flannel cat pajama pants and the crudest knock knock joke I know has the punchline "nun of your business." And bosses will never be hip.) Point is, I realize my "uniqueness" must be toned down a bit at almost any place of employment, but my current one has done everything in its power to murder it. So if you hear of any company that is hiring a neurotic and painfully/proudly introverted blogger of unique monkey mind shit, let me know. I'll get my resume ready.

Number 3, done. I still haven't discovered my passion. Do you think it's because I am passionless? Do you think it's because I haven't had my morning bowl of Ooooooops! ALL FUCKIN' BERRIES?! WHAT IS THIS?! SOME KIND OF APRIL FOOLS' JOKE?! Speaking of morning bowls, in my ideal world I would wake up to a different kind of morning bowl, wink wink. (I've been winking a lot in this post. Must be my new contacts.) Hey. Shoot for the stars. It could become a reality one day.

Well, alright, sweet peach cobbler kids, I'm off to get my final iron infusion. I'm sure gonna miss those free packets of saltines and eavesdropping on the nurses' mind numbing chit chat. I hope they don't infuse me with better butter as some kind of sick April Fools' prank. WHAT IF?! Hang in there. Go fix yourself a sexually pleasing English muffin. (JK, mama! I have been so naughty in this post. Naughty is an embarrassing word. I am embarrassing myself right now, but I can't stop. I am just owning my uniqueness, I suppose. Cheers! Emulsion! PASSION!)