So last night I figured out that blogger counts my own profile clicks toward the total views of my profile. Heheheh. And since I was at 897 (yes, I know all the rest of y'all are in the thousands, I don't wanna hear about it), I clicked and back-clicked several times so I could reach 900.
Then the guilt settled in.
See, I have this moral policy against voting for myself. And this felt a lot like voting for myself. In all of my varied candidacies (ie for posts so hallowed as Key Club Recording Secretary), I could never muster up the gumption--the arrogance?--to check that little box next to my name. Which I own as being oddly out of character, but there we are.
Perhaps my hesitance originated from the first and only time I DID pick me: fourth grade, the illustrious race for Student Council 2nd VP (one of only two slots we lowly fourth graders could run for). I lost. Moment of silence, please. So maybe that's it; maybe I equate self-votes with God smiting me with a loss. Hmmmn.
All was good, though, as the kid who beat me (Steven Nichols) became my first boyfriend (sixth grade, 1988). As first boyfriends go, he was pretty sweet. And just think, if I had beaten him way back when, I'm sure I wouldn't have found him remotely attractive. (Alas, it wasn't meant to be, because who wants to wind up as Nicole Nichols? Um, no thank you.)
But I digress.
The point of this whole rambling bit of fun was onefold: confession. I self-voted, I confessed, I am now able to enjoy the rest of my day. That is, if you forgive me. Which I hope you do.
Happy cleanse-your-soul Wednesday.
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