Because of my exposure to every disease known to mankind, I cannot donate blood.
I am a walking, talking epitome of rejection. Rejection's poster child.
I actually have tried to donate, but received my rejection letter in the mail that my services would no longer be needed under any circumstances.
The year 1971 was an eventful year for me. I expected birth and I got it. After a lifetime of feeling inadequate in my shared cave of hope (someone was in there with me cramping my space, but that is another story) I expected party balloons or some type of reception like a fancy dress gala upon my grand entrance into the world. Instead, I received the Constitutional right to bear weapons of mass destruction.
I had these mad "being born" skills that seemed to be such a waste. I only got to use them once. I may have done a bit better being born in the monkey world. I was on a gazillion year waiting list for being birthed and thought I would be totally professional about it.
Besides a few bathroom bloopers and my fevered dreams of being the world's greatest superhero not coming to pass, overall I am very satisfied. People tell me that I can be a "kick in the teeth" sometimes. I'm thinking that is a good thing.
Most of you know me well enough by now to know that I am a full die-hard fan of doing good in the world. I'm not really notorious...or are I?
My gut tells me to keep going.
I always see things better. Some people see things in a negative light. I don't. Some people don't understand that. I don't understand why people are negative. It blows my mind. But, once again, that would make them "different" so I try not to judge.
I'm not great with advice, but I have a million sarcastic comments to offer. This is my own personal advice that I offer to myself and for the first time ever I am making available to the public.
Oh, and while you are busy being amazing donate blood on my behalf.