crumbs goeth before the dustpan.

 
    Coming to you live, from the Burlington bound double-decker coach, currently traversing the Vineland portion of the QEW at this VERY instant.

Hello, friends.

I'd like to talk to you about love. But as it stands I'm recovering from a hangover only slightly less annoying than the last time I touched base, so that shit's OFF the agenda.

Hamburgers, though. If there's a bone or mushy organ in here somewhere that doesn't want a cheeseburger at 10:15am, its little voice is being drowned out by the body parts that do.

You ever have a moment where you're talking with a person you trust and you somehow get to a place where you say something you've NEVER said out loud before? It doesn't necessarily have to be profound, it could literally be as simple as how you really feel about Baked Lays -which, by the way, are of the devil. One of those moments happened yesterday.

It was crazy. There was this sudden wash over me where I had to stop eating my unbelievably delicious omelette and say to myself "Woah. Is it possible you're not awesome at a thing that you've always said you're awesome at? Do you actually suck at it and do you maybe need to work on it?"

Yeah. Deep, right?

It was skee-ball.

But anyway, if I've been living relatively switched on and emotionally intelligent for (let's say) the past 6 years, thinking I was amazing at skee-ball just because I FELT like I was, and making it my one solid argument in any conflict with a little help from hyperbole, eg. "I am the BEST at this. Nobody rolls these things up that wooden deal into those little holes the way I do," then do I really have a leg to stand on? Who died and made me the human yard-stick for measuring overall bestness at this? The International Academy of Arcade Games hasn't sent me any honorary mention and let's be honest, every two or three years myself or my other team member leaves due to irreconcilable differences.

Furthermore, who the HELL would want to hang their hat on a skee-ball legacy when they could spend more of their time, I dunno, being a good person? Showing gratitude and humility?

Anyway, the honesty and embarrassment attached to realizing you haven't been true to yourself can leave you flailing. Luckily I had eaten some fairly dense toast so I didn't just explode into a million feathery pieces like a hotel pillow when it comes to terms with its poor craftsmanship, during a sibling-instigated blanket-fort war.

My first act as a human, free from skee-ball and environmentally unfriendly prize tickets, is to stop keeping track of my acts as a human. I am so entirely not the best at anything and it feels pretty awesome to admit it.

Chomps