It's all about me

Ever wake up pissed off? Didn't even give the day a chance to see how it would go? You already knew how it would go. This is me. Not all the time but too many times. It's to the point that I feel like an incurable nut. There's not enough prozac in the world to save me. Sometimes I picture myself as a car stuck in the snow or mud. Giving it the gas. Rocking backwards and forwards until I'm buried up to my axle. Other times I'm one of those cars that you wind up and it keeps bouncing off the wall. Yep. Those are the things that pass through my mind - the windmills of my mind. Ha. Enough about me. No, wait, I'm not done. I also put the wrong gas in my car. A combo of sugar, diet coke, more sugar and other tasty treats. Cough cough sputter sputter.
My brother and his wife put high octane premium in their gas tanks AND they have a relationship with the man upstairs. Wait a second... their house doesn't have an upstairs. Okay, the man waaaay upstairs. They seem happy and content with their lives. I've never seen them looking like they just crawled out of bed - ever. You could drop in any day or anytime and they would never have to say, "Sorry the house is such a mess." There's no dirty underwear laying around in the bathroom. You could sit anywhere in black pants and not look like an animal yourself when you leave. There would be some sort of food offering. Homemade. No Archways or Chips Ahoy in this house. Oh why can't I be just a little more like that.
Then there is my sister and her husband. A little bit country. A little bit rock and roll. They are neat people. Not crazy neat people. You feel comfortable in their house. You feel at home. You could spill a beer on their floor and it would be okay - except for the fact that you wasted a whole beer. They have cats, they dance and have hippies for friends. I guess you could say they are normal. But what do I know about normal? I don't know about their relationship with the man waaaay upstairs but from what I hear their neighbor could use an enema.
I will be what I will be and every one else will be what they will be. We are all created equal but then something happens along the way. What makes some of us like a tilted pinball machine? What makes some of us neat and crazy clean? What makes some of us normal? I don't know. I'm asking you.