"Enough about you, let's talk about life for a while"
That's one of my favourite Alanis Morisette (sp?) lyrics. But forget life. Let's talk about me me me me. My recent and long-lasting existential crisis has ended - don't worry, a new one is imminent - and it's time to reflect on what I've learned about me. Namely:

I am too hard on myself.
My standards are too high, but I like that about me.
I know a little bit about a lot of things, not the other way around.
I am not my mother.
I never play dumb.
When I am dumb, I am very truly sincerely dumb.
I am exceptional.
I always speak my mind.
I really, really, really want a dog.
I hate gardening.
I am pro-choice, pro-military, and pro-napping.
I believe that things happen for a reason.
I don't like my neighbours, The Superhunk and His Cold Shoulder .
I'm OK with that.

There are other things that I've known about myself for a long time, but these are my most recent epiphanies. For instance, I just gave up trying to like the neighbours yesterday afternoon. "Life's too short," I thought; I'm turning 35 soon, and I know there are many others more deserving of my friendship.