Sorting Out

My good doctor sorted himself out just yesterday, and I can’t help but follow his lead.

I am the sort who cries at the wrong times for the right reasons and at the right times for the wrong reasons, and who looks absolutely awful doing it.

I am the sort who can balance someone else’s checkbook to the penny but hasn’t balanced her own in years.

I am the sort who still laughs with genuine embarrassment if someone tells her she’s beautiful.

I am the sort who runs because it reminds her of when she was a little kid and the days were long as lifetimes.

I am the sort who never lets on how badly her feelings are hurt by certain things.

I am the sort who sees blue sky in a voice, who tastes a cold snowy day, who smells lies as if they were week-old fish and who sees the textures of what you're thinking.

I am the sort who watches people more than they would ever be comfortable with.

I am the sort who writes stories that you live in without even knowing it most of the time.

I am the sort of friend who generally keeps her distance but whom you can count on without question when it really matters.

I am the sort who knows there are monsters crawling all around us and who keeps the secrets about the real horrors of life to herself and others like her.

I am the sort who never really leaves, even when it seems like she's been gone forever.

I am the sort who had fantasies as a girl about marrying Curly from the Three Stooges.

I am the sort who believes in the lagniappe and the baker’s dozen, in always giving a little bit more than was expected for no reason other than you wanted to see a smile.