perfection

Nothing is perfect. The way I tied my tie yesterday is not perfect. The hair on my head is never combed perfectly (although many like to argue that it's plastered perfectly to my head). My writing (sadly) is not perfect. My life is not perfect.

Perfection comes in the form of what people, or your little four-legged friends, do. I don't believe there is a perfect person here on earth. But I believe perfect friends exist, the ones like I have.
The John's, the Todd's, the Michael's's, the Brad's, the Jesse's, the P-Nut's. Doesn't every group have a P-Nut?

While I consider perfection, let me also bring into account that I've always been one to want to master perfection. Now isn't it ironic that I think perfection isn't possible? So then how is it possible to have perfect friends, perfect animals, or perfect moments?


I think you have to realize that perfection isn't a state of being; it's a state of mind. You have to realize that perfection comes only with imperfection. The imperfect moments make life greater for the understanding of something truly great. If life was perfect, would we realize it? If nothing ever went wrong, would I know how great life is?

I kind of like that my ties aren't always tied right, or that my hair blows in the breeze, or that I messed up on a live shot. Well, I don't always like that last part. But I think I like that things are like they are.

Every time we move, it takes an incredibly long time for me to think where I live is perfect. Our last place was awesome. It took a long time to really like my apartment here. But I love it. I love our perfect moments in it, the perfect arguments, the perfect spills, the perfect overloaded laundry. But look at this: now that I've done laundry, I know how perfect it is not to have any laundry to do! (At least until next week, ugh!) HA! But when all is said, I love how perfect it is when I go to bed and the sink is clean, the kitchen is tidy, the dog toys are put away, and the bedroom is put together. Then the next morning I rise out of my perfect bed, read my perfect e-mail, put on some not so perfectly fitting clothes ;) and walk out into my perfect job. Then I get to work and realize that my job isn't so perfect. But then I get an exclusive and life is perfect again. But the cycle bends all over again into 10,000 directions and it's hard to find where perfection is. Deep down, though, it's in my mind, in my thoughts, dreams, and outlook on life.

Now I'm going home to my perfect wife, and my perfect dinner (hopefully there will be dinner, haha!)

If you can count how many times I typed perfect, you get a cookie. And remember, the perfect even in this perfect sentence counts.... perfectly.