impish, clattery and unabashedly boisterous: mistakes are crazy little buggers. they can not be anticipated, can not be stopped, and usually shake us up well before we can compose ourselves. they pounce on us as our weakest, plant a kiss, and leave us terribly red-faced. they never tire, and, inimitable and lively, ever conjure new ways to surprise us.
pretty-much every defining moment in my life was a terrible mistake to start off with. (birth, doesn’t count.) and, pretty-much every mistake defined me better than those jolly-good-times ever could. i just wish i could find the courage to embrace the perfect-assembly–of-mistakes i am.