I am a bitch.
It's true. I can admit it. And sometimes, more than others, it shows. And lately, it's been showing a lot. So many little things have been getting under my skin. Lighting that notoriously short fuse to my temper. It would seem I have inherited the innate ability from my mother to piss people off. I am hoping that where I differ in that skill is the fact that I can accept the blame. I can say, "Yes, it's my fault." She can't. Hopefully that matters. If not, I'm running for the hills.
And now I'm facing up to it. I consider myself intelligent. I like to point out the wrongs of the world. I like to think things like, "I'm better than that." I'm arrogant. I may have some redeeming qualities, but they don't tip the scales much. I'm petty and mean and insensitive.
And I'm not sorry. Not one bit. This is me. Live with it, or leave me alone.
