Something that has always troubled me a lot: people with inaccurate self images. It troubles me because I have known people who thought they were the spit, but were, in fact, insufferable losers. Also, I worry I am like that.

A perfect example of this is “Katy,” a woman I knew who killed herself years ago.

At one point she wrote in her journal a list of things she had to offer a partner, but only a few of them were true…

“Nice looking, loving, great (at least real good) body, honest, healthy, easy to be with, terrific cook, good in a crisis, good listener, intelligent, independent, affectionate, honorable, accepting of other POV than my own.”

In fact, she wasn’t honest with herself, she wasn’t emotionally healthy, her independence and affections were tainted with neediness, she was a judgmental listener, and she wasn’t easy to be with. In fact, when I was with her, I found her one of the hardest people to “be with” I ever dated.

She also had a long list of requirements of a potential mate, but everyone in the real world fell far short.

This fundamental lack of understanding herself led to intense conflict inside her, resentment and self-loathing that eventually led to her suicide.

Self image is different than self esteem. Self esteem comes from accepting who you really are.

So what about you, Dick? Are you perfect?

Ha! I make a point to see through my assholity, not always successfully, and accept my shortcomings. And it’s not just that I look like a doofus when I try to dance, or that my voice is nasally. I resent incompetence. I’m eager to rush to judgement about other people’s idiocy. The tone or my voice is often condescending, even when I don’t mean to be. I brag too much about being happily married.

On that last point, I freely admit that a small portion of my loving being married is the old saying that, “the best revenge is being happy.” In your face, miserable loneliness!

All these observations come on Super Bowl Sunday. Abby and I customarily spend it together. We watch the game no matter who plays; it’s because we do it together, which is nice. I got a big pizza, which we are eating all day. Abby is watching the Puppy Bowl and laughing out loud.

Finally, I took Hawken the Irish Wolfhound for a two-mile-long, spooky winter walk. We took several trails and routes in the woods behind the property that we’d never seen before. In a few spots, I got a hint of The Blair Witch Project.