• Sadly, by Cindy Falteich


My husband thinks I’m confident. He wonders why. My answer is simple: I think I’m far prettier than I am.

Really. I see younger bodies, hot blondes and scholars and I’m not remotely intelligent enough to know I don’t compare.

That’s my secret. Low IQ.

As a result, I have one piece of advice: stop gathering information. Honestly. The power of information is in how it’s perceived so if you read words on a page and are being manipulated into feeling something you don’t emotionally like, stop reading. There is no required correlation between being smart and being angry.

There is also no correlation between opportunity and scarcity. We are all so distinctly different that I don’t understand why any of us would want to compete with someone else. And honestly, I will never understand the obsession with the Kardashians.

I’m sitting here trying to figure out what alien material has collected under my nails, I’m acting clueless about why those zits appeared on my chin as if I never secretly ate a whole bar of chocolate yesterday and I’m contemplating how I can work pajamas into my daily wardrobe.

I don’t know where my favorite bra is because my room is chaos and I can’t tell if I’m wearing panties. If they’re the comfy ones my husband picked out of some discount rack, I’d have to touch myself to tell.

I’ll spare you that.

My point is, nothing makes me anymore special or not than anyone who has crashed Google with a selfie addiction. That also doesn’t mean I’m spending time watching what some call “beautiful” people lead so called “rich” lives on reality tv. Where could that possibly get me?

Kim Kardashian and I will most likely never meet. Besides, it’s not good for us to hang in the same circles. She would simply want to be more like me.

And I can’t take the pressure. ;)

What’s important is to be me. The best me is the one who makes everyone their best them.

What if Congress passed a law that every day you had to make someone feel better about themselves?

Remember, we’re all going to die. If I think I’m superior to someone, it might be helpful to remember that I might beat them to it. Hell, I wanted to win. Now I can.

I sometimes think the world would be a better place if we were all blind. Then we’d have to slow down and become instinctually aware of how to feel.

Maybe that’s why my eyes are failing. And for a moment I blamed middle-age.

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© 2019 by Cindy Falteich

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