What is perfect? Nothing.

No such thing as perfect happiness. At least for people like me. Like every rose has its thorns, my happiness is impaled and shredded by expectations and resulting frustrations...
Why can't I just plaster a stupid grin on my face and wash out any semblance of doubt forming on my mind with lye and a hard brush?
Why can't I just live with what I am dished out?
Who am I? Of all the fat-assed people on planet earth. To even expect ANYTHING of ANYONE?
No wonder I am set up for failure from the start.
I am supposed to let things be.
Let the tea steep and seep out its gorgeous flavours in the tepid water. Woe betide anyone who dares turn up the flame and bring forth a rolling boil!
Let the flower gently unfurl and bring forth its beauty.
Let the egg hatch in its own time.
I can't go nitpicking. On everything. And with a sharp jab, put things in place.
No!
I have to let it lie.
And fester?
I have to let things putrefy till they come to their natural bloom or spoil eventually...
Hmph!
Hate how things are.