Perfection

I'm not perfect. So far from it.

My family knows that. My friends know that.

I know that - and it is my knowledge of my imperfections drives me mad.

I frantically strive for the perfect
outfit
hairdo
schedule
space
response
mindset
friendships
relationships
body language
grammar
grades


Everything.

 I end up striving for this image I want for myself. A perfect one.

I'm such an idiot. Nobody can be perfect - result of the Fall. So why do I try, focusing all my energy on a perfect self-image I will never achieve instead of focusing on staying true to the quirks and imperfections that make me the blundering, awkward, idiotic beauty I am? I have faults - sinful ones to pray about and fight against. But all those other traits and quirks of mine that I cast aside in the "Doesn't-Qualify-For-The-Perfection-I'm-Aiming-At" pile are what makes me ME.

I trip over the floor
I have a lopsided, crooked smile
Sometimes I snortle like a sick dolphin when I laugh
My hair is always messy and wind-blown
My nails are always half-painted
I'm awkward ending a conversation with new people
Sometimes I'm over-the-top weird in an annoying way
My face looks like a pizza and a blender had a party
I mess up and need a firm talk from the mother
I sing like a demented frog

I'm me. An idiot.

Not perfection.

I am me.