I’m dull. Utterly boring and disgustingly average. I don’t have any super powers. I’m really a horrible housekeeper. I never finish what I start. I don’t have great ideas when I’m sleeping and then wake up and scribble them on a scratch pad on my bedside table. I like beige. I’m most comfortable in holey jeans and a great big sweatshirt. I have no idea where I’m going with this. I did have a plan when I started, but I can’t seem to remember what it was. Oh, now I remember. Five years ago I couldn’t have been this brutally honest about myself to anybody. Now I don’t care who knows. I’m actually kind of proud of who I am, of who I have become. My own skin is comfortable me now. I really don’t even remember that other person I used to be. Somehow in my life I lost who I was, but now I’m back. I know what makes me happy and I know what makes me sad. Actually accomplishing this is my greatest achievement (other than somehow having perfect kids). I’ve got boxes of awards and certificates, but they really don’t mean anything to me anymore. I don’t know what finally brought me back. Maybe I have just finally grown up.