Perfection is dumb.

People assume I’m a perfectionist. I’m not.

I don’t give up because it’s too hard, because it isn’t perfect, because I’m too lazy, because I’m too tired. I give up because it isn’t whole.

It isn’t human and it isn’t me. It isn’t all there. I’m not sure all of me is there. I think a piece fell out, or maybe it was never there in the first place.

I don’t care if it isn’t perfect; it isnt meant to be perfect. It’s supposed to be messy and it’s supposed to be funny and weird and it’s supposed to be human.

But I’m not sure it is. I’m not sure I am.

I want to be complete, not perfect.