Count Your Blessings

I am not obese, deformed or physically disabled. I don't have any life-threatening illnesses. I'm not psychotic and I don't need to take drugs to keep my brain balanced. I'm not indigent, homeless, or even unemployed. I'm not an orphan. I have all my limbs. I don't have asthma, diabetes or high blood pressure. None of my relatives are in jail or are insane. I'm not in jail, nor do I have a criminal record. I don't have a moustache or a port-wine birthmark or a cleft palate. I don't have psoriasis or super-acne. I'm not starving or thirsty or in need of basic shelter. I don't live in an area that is frequently hit by bombs or gunfire. (I said frequently.) I don't have children I can't support. I'm not addicted to drugs. I am not a street prostitute. I am not beaten. I have never been threatened with a weapon. I have never been raped or mugged or kidnapped. I'm not blind or deaf. I've got it pretty good.

I have an apartment, a job, a boyfriend, and friends and family who love me. I can sing, and I'm funny. I'm also smart and good-looking. Hell, I'm foxy. I can put together an outfit and make a great pot roast. I'm a great kisser, among other things. I can yo-yo and hula hoop. That's good stuff.

Who cares if my skin isn't perfect, if I have big thighs and a belly, if I walk with my toes pointed out, if I get cold sores, if my hands are sweaty, if I have one little STD... I mean, who cares, really? This is life. Life isn't perfect. I am so thankful that I'm not afflicted with anything from the first paragraph, that getting upset over a pimple would be stupid. This is life. This is the only one we get. Any time spent worrying over what we weren't born like or what could have been is a waste. My body is the way it is because of genetics and the life I've led. It's not so bad. Overall, it's pretty great. Plus, my body isn't all I've got. I'd be pretty unhappy in, say, Christopher Reeve's place, but if I could talk, and read, and listen to music, and watch films and plays, it certainly wouldn't be the end.

I think sometimes you just have to stop and think, hey, this is my life. Check it out. It's a weird sensation, when you stop thinking all that other stuff: What am I going to wear tomorrow? How can I get a raise at work? Should I buy new curtains? Where is my relationship going? How could they vote Christy off Survivor? You know, that stuff you think, constantly. Just stop and check it out. This is your life.