How to Fail at Sitting

It's taking a bit longer than what I had originally planned.  Don't get me wrong.  I am not that picky and men have accomplished quite a bit more than me.

I haven't accomplished quite as much.

I'm starting to feel like I haven't accomplished very much in my life.  I'm cleverly disguised as a responsible adult.  It is all part of my trickery to graduate from adult school one day.

I went to a concert last night...Toby Mac. Well, I went because my son wanted to go, but I really wasn't expecting much.  It worked out perfectly with my schedule of having no social life.

I loved it.  It rekindled my lifelong love of rap music that I never loved. Ever.  There was no foul language or I wouldn't have gone.  So, I get there with my ticket and someone, a teenager, had taken my seat.  I didn't want to ask her to move so I wandered the Complex looking for a seat.  I became trapped in a neverending loop of looking for a seat.

I missed the entire first half of the concert.  When I tried sneak into a "non-designated" seating area, someone in security for the Complex yelled at me and I slowly came to the realization that I am forty-one years old and don't understand seating or in general, how to sit.  There is this relentless logic in my head that it should be a simple process for an adult.

I am handicapped by my own reluctance to disturb the lives of others.  I would rather throw a brick at myself than ask someone to get up out of my seat.  I like to think that I am really some sort of superhero when I do things like this.

If romantically challenged were a superpower, I would have saved the world by now, from something.

Yes, my thumbs are bendy.

I actually failed as a wanderer.  There is a whole range of ways for me to fail and I nail them all. 

The security guy who yelled at me saw me sitting in a corner bludgeoning myself in the face with Facebook.

He came over and apologized.  I was cool with that.  After all, I have lightning fast mood swings and switching over from one to another is my greatest power.  I do have a hard time achieving spontaneous combustion, but at this time, that was not necessary.

I'm thinking about checking myself into kindness rehab.  Surely there is help for me.

I am proud to say that I have a friend who is a superhero to me.  She gave up everything and moved her family to Costa Rica (not the part with beaches!) to help those less fortuante.  They moved to the jungle part.  I think monkeys steal their stuff.  Monkeys are tricky.

The economic situation there is pretty bad.  She has started an initiative called Mercy Covers that enables the local women to make quilts for orphans or trafficking survivors.  I hope that you check it out and possibly like and share the Facebook page.  There are no pirates or monkeys.

So, there was this battle of epic proportions going on inside of me.  I hate being a superhero and nobody knows about it.  Honestly, is that selfish or what? But, I think the best credit to me, is that they don't know.  I don't want to start doing things for credit, but just to store in my vault of goodness, which is running dangerously low.

My life is punctuated by unfortunate events.