Can’t spell depressed without ‘pressed’

I was pondering some stuff today and realized I don’t know anything and I’m not particularly good at anything. Which probably means it’s time to run a company and have kids. Let them be special. 

Then someone says to me, if only we were as encouraging to ourselves as we are to others. How the better among us can find a kind word for absolutely anyone. We can even forgive people who go to jail or otherwise fuck up pretty bad. But why can’t we extend the same grace to ourselves for even the most minor things?

I decided I’m not just part of the sandwich generation, but I’m a Cuban. Pressed and toasted within an inch of my life. So what if I don’t have a kid. Parent, pet, livelihood and trying to take care of me. Ham, pork, bread and pickle. Pretty tasty overall but can’t satisfy everyone. 

I still wonder what I’m going to be great at. Just happy that I still have time and a little bit of spunk left to find out. 

Of course, I shouldn’t call myself a Cuban too loud. Donald Trump would deport me.

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