Good Me, Bad Me . . . E’gad, Me.

This is good me.

And let’s be clear, even good me is not very good.

This is me rolling my eyes toward heaven and thinking something along the lines of “hmm, do I write him back and say I’m breaking it off (because he’s just not intellectual enough), or do I just string him along for the holidays because I’ve nothing better on and I hate going to holiday parties without an escort.”

Like I said, good me, still not very good.

But bad me? Oh so very bad.

On any given day, you might meet either me, or even both mes. Some days even I don’t know which I am, so I can’t make you any promises. But I try to keep the balance tipped slightly to the good. It’s easy to do because good me has a great sense of humor that, once deployed, can override almost any deviltry bad me can concoct.

I think on balance I’m rather normal. Except, I tend to enjoy my life more than most because I’m not terribly introspective. Introspection is such a buzz kill. Live your life, don’t analyze it.

People hate this about me, my joie de vivre. Or they do until they realize it’s something they can have too.  You can love life every day, even when people die, or your home is swept away, or your life’s work goes up in flames, or . . . .

Loving life is about loving being alive. Now.

Wow. That’s starting to sound introspective. I’d better stop.

Good Me needs to write a letter; Bad Me needs to find a winter fling.

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