Okay, I can admit that once in a while I Google myself. Don't judge me; who doesn't Google him or herself now and again? Don't lie, you know you're into it, too. It's late at night, you're by yourself...it just happens.* Just a minute ago, though, I thought that I'd change up my routine and try something new: Yahooing myself.

What did I find? This. I have no idea what it means, but I'm in twelfth  place. This could be a list of the worst poems that this guy's read this year, in which case, I can look on the bright side and say that at least I'm not in the top (bottom?) ten. If I dare to dream, maybe it's a list of the hottest poems that he's read this year. If this is the case (and I hope like hell that it is),then, cool. Although it's a bit of a drag to almost make it into the top ten, I can use my twelfth-place finish as motivation, as a reason to push myself to train harder, to hit the metaphorical poetry weights, if you will, and one day bust into the top.

Maybe it's just a list of the order in which he read these poems, which means that I'm probably obsessing about nothing and that this post is just embarrassing.

* Sorry. I was trying to be funny, but all I managed to do was to gross myself out. Let's just try to get past this.