Passin' Me By

For those of you who I've tricked into thinking that I am a mature, rational adult, allow me to burn through the illusion. I'm about as petty and mean-spirited as they come. In fact, there are three parts of my personality- the me you see (and who apparently loves Seuss-like verse), my whiny Id ("why come I can't have what they have?!") and Baroness Bitch McNasty ("you fat, untalented, loser, you're wasting time"!). Let me tell you why all this is important.

See, a friend of mine called me yesterday with some cracking good news. She's going to be on a new reality show doing what she does (and does well)- fashion design! At first, I was so excited, I couldn't stand it. I've known her all my life and she's always been talented, always striving to get what she wants on her terms. Ah, but then my pouting little Id chimed in with the inevitable "Why not me?" That's when Baroness McNasty took the opportunity to answer: "I'll tell you why not you, you little shit," she hissed. "Because you're laying your fat, lazy ass on the couch in a pink robe and Betelgeuse knee socks watching the BBC when you should be writing." Hurt as I was, I acknowledged that she had a point. But she wasn't done with me. "While she was on a plane to L.A. facing fear and chasing down her dreams, you were baking cookies for a freaking PTA bake sale. Your whining and sense of entitlement is sickening and damn near eclipsing whatever talent you might have had."

This, friends, plunged me into a despair so dark and encompassing that I couldn't claw my way out if I had Prozac and a flashlight.

Cards on the table: This isn't professional jealousy or even personal regret that I'm feeling. It's straight-up envy. E to the N to the V to the Y. And I don't know why I'm feeling it with her and not my other successful friends. Maybe I do and I'm afraid to voice it... I may as well eat a supersized number 2 (gluttony), sleep with Vin Diesel (necessity, er- lust), then have the gall to get mad (wrath) because I'm a fucking undiscovered genius (pride)! I'm telling you, all this plus this freaking waiting game with the agents has got my skull all wound up. Fuck it. You think I'm doing shit today? You think I'm writing? Ha! There's a robe, a day old bagel and a Joni Mitchell CD in my future. That's sloth for your monkey ass.