Excuses, excuses, excuses. That is my favorite device to keep things on an even keel. I don't like change. I am a prisoner of routine. I won't bunge jump--my hernia prohibits it. Won't talk to strange women--fear of mace. No risky investments. I let business opportunities go by. Too many variables. My excuse for not losing five pounds--that flab is part of my identity.
I should clean my bathroom and avoid fungus. But it's so painful to kneel over the tub. Getting to know my neighbors means expecting them to ask for favors. One after the other. No privacy. No time to myself. I can't be solving other people's problems. I'm no one's taxi service.
I should smile more, but if I did, people would expect me to be happy all the time. Who needs that kind of pressure? Creating an overall philosophy to live by seems dubious when I could get hit by a bus any time. I have stockpiled hundreds of excuses, enough to build a verbal barricade against intrusive change.
My calling card is non-existent because I refuse to call on anyone. Too many nuts out there. I'm home where it's safe and I don't need an excuse to close the blinds.
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