The New Weed (not that kind)

Sometimes I like to think that I am a really picky plant that doesn't grow well in certain soils, but like a plant, I don't have the ability to just pick myself up and find the ecosystem, location, people that would suit me best. This is just a really great excuse to be lazy, sit on a sill and wait to be watered for the rest of my life. I need to hone my abilities. That's why ... my really big goal in life right now is not to blossom into a delicate orchid but evolve into a weed. Yup, it's an ugly, dumb metaphor, but indeed, I am going to learn things the "hard way:" on unfriendly foreign terrain, with few nutrients, little history, and a ravenous desire to survive the odds (Round Up or rejection) and infest your dad's impeccable bluegrass lawn. The weed is bound to be stepped on, bound to be despised. Yet the weed lives everywhere. Unforgivingly optimistic. Unabashedly brave. Relentlessly terrible. The new Jean is emerging.