• Some people are born into greatness. Still others have greatness thrust upon them. I don't remember where that came from. A movie probably, or a book. I don't remember who said it either. But right now, I really don't simply care. Because I don't want this, this "greatness." And I don't deserve the Atlas weight on my shoulders.

    One, two, three, four. Listen up soldier! You're just sitting side-by-side like convicts waiting to be shot or soldiers ready to fight. I'm telling you the ways to save your neck in a battle but what do you do? You go break your neck anyway.

    But oh no. No no no. it doesn't break because of the enemy. No. No. NO! You go break it with every intent, with every ounce of determination and purpose. You go break it with a tree, a sledgehammer, parachuting without a parachute. It was planned I tell you. Planned!

    So Life, Mother Nature, Father Time, Easter Bunny, South Wind –and I really don't care who else- I'm going to ask one simple question consisting of two simple words: Why me?

    Because honestly, I want to know. Why me? There's another three thousand and eight million, nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine people in America, another five billion, nine hundred ninety-nine thousand million, nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine people in the entire world to choose from but me.

    If it's all good intentions in you to thrust greatness upon me, then by all means go ahead. But let me warn you: I want none of it.

    I've already had enough. Enough of the contemplation and assumption. I'm tired or people judging by what they've heard about me. I don't want to be that girl, the one who… who… who has no life because she's busy greatness-ing.

    Because Mother Nature, no one's going to care about the environment in a few years. Father Time, no one will want to reminisce if this is what life is like. Easter Bunny, you're not even real and the South Wind? Well there's nothing I can say to you. But Life. Oh sweet dear Life.

    You suck.

    But to the paralyzed soldiers –oh to you backstabbing soldiers- I say to you: you better welcome the next five minutes before night becomes permanent. To you I say this: I refuse to be the bobble head, the figurine, the puppet. Don't go running home to your momma all doggy-eyed. You're not getting any sympathy from me. I ain't God and I'm never going to be him. I can't be your parents and do everything for you. Yet I'm too scared of losing my pride and dignity to stop caring and worrying.

    Mark my words four winds and twenty-four times, this is the end. This is me abdicating the throne, tossing the crown away. I've worn the thorns and violet long enough. Years and eons pass, I hope my Prince of Denmark will be there to challenge the Claudius, to be or not to be.

    To be or not to be. Yes. Yes. I choose the not. And here's cheers to me removing my mantle. Beware– your chalice might just be poisoned and the sword deadly.