Critical.
Critical.
Critical.
Criticalcriticalcriticalcriticalcritical.
Always critical, that's me.
And more of myself than others. Usually.
I'd like to pose a question, God. If you don't mind.
Why can't I accept the good things about me instead of focusing on the bad?
Like, for example.
She really does love me, even if there are a million little things I'm doing wrong I could nitpick at.
I talk fast, but it adds a sort of charm. That's a bit of a stretch.
I'm sensitive, but at least I'm not Mr. Macho.
I can't sing, but I can write all right.
I have good idea sometimes, even without a way to carry them out.
I'm negative but,
Well. Right now I'm being positive, I think.
It feels pretty good.
It's weird.
But I can see how this could add seven years to my life. Mick would have me seven years longer, Lord willing.
CRAP.
I just realized.
That social skills aspie workbook was actually right!
That whole positive countertalk thing works.
I'm surprised.
I thought they were whackjobs.
God, help me to be more positive like this, and less self-critical. Please. Help me to keep away those gray moods that seem to overtake me.
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