I paint a really pretty picture in this little ol' space of mine.
Words that flow together just so; some nice photos to match the words; those photos capture the best times; the words are edited and erased and written again.
The real me has no edit button; no backspace; no do-overs.
The real me is pretty awkward and very clumsy. I embarrass easily and try not to show it, but my flaming red cheeks are a dead giveaway.
Sometimes, I trip over my words, and they come out too fast, and then my cheeks get red again.
The real me feels ugly; both inside and out.
The real me feels like I can never be thin enough, even though the number on the scale never changes. Sometimes I put on my "fat" jeans so I can make sure they still fall off of me even though my "skinny" clothes feel like they're suffocating me.
The real me is pretty weird. Sometimes, I can't believe I landed a husband. I'm sure I'm going to be one of those moms that will embarrass her kids.
The real me feels very inadequate a lot of the time; not worthy to be their mother or his wife. A lot of the time I feel like a huge, embarrassing failure...oh, it's just Jen, oh, that's something Jen would do, oh, good try Jen...even my name irritates me.
The real me is very shy until you get to know me.
The real me feels like I have a note on my forehead telling me some improvement is always required, both inside and out.
The real me has no clue what I'm doing a lot of the time...fake it til you make it is my motto.
The real me wishes I could do something extraordinary with my life; but the other real me bursts my bubble with a pin-prick of logic and brings me back to reality with a thud.
The real me is a big dork, who gets excited about Thursday night T.V., and Friday night pizza nights, and a new scent of shampoo or a new nail polish color.
Sometimes, I don't like the real me...