It's All About Me

A friend gave me a few magazines the other day, which is great, because she always hands them over in near perfect condition with all of the perfume samples and coupons still intact. The first thing I do when she hands over her still current Real Simples is ravage them like a starving man would a microwave burrito: I tear into all the little samples and shiny pages and wrinkle them and bask in the glow of the $4 purchase I would have never been able to bring myself to make. Sometimes I even read the articles. This month there was one about narcissism. I love the little human interest bits so I devoured it carefully, taking note of each trait a person might posses if they were, in fact, a narcissist. A few hours after my reading was complete I began to wonder: what if I was a narcissist? What if that was, in fact, why my friend gave me this stack of literature in the first place? Was she gently trying to imply that I needed to deal with my personal ego problems? I went over the article again, filling in the blanks with my own personality. I DID like to talk, all the time, mostly about myself. Aren't I the one who had to start a blog? So I could have another place to ramble on about what else?? MYSELF? This really had me worried. Not because I was potentially a narcissist, but because SOMEONE KNEW. And when I realized that little gem, well that made it all clear. The problem is really that I am WAY too concerned about what people think of me. If a stupid magazine article could send me reeling into self-doubt and worry then I clearly didn't have a problem, at least not with narcissism. Isn't a narcissist one who thinks the world of them self? My real problem materialized before my eyes: I am INSANE and I spend too much time analyzing everything, AND I don't give my friends enough credit. Because really, I know they would come directly to me if they had a problem with me, or at least they'd find a more creative way to deal with it than sending me secret messages through Every Day With Rachel Ray, ones that I would need a decoder ring to understand and 3-D glasses to appreciate. And if I was THAT big of a bitch they wouldn't hang out with me anyway. Or they might. Just because I'm so cool. It's hard not to want to be around someone as kick ass as ME! Right? RIGHT???