It didn't even bother her to post a thought that started on one subject and ended on something entirely different.

Once upon a time there was a girl who got things almost right the first time. Unfortunately, she was too young to realize she'd gotten it just about right, so she spent about 10 years learning to appreciate what she'd given up. She was somewhat consumed with perfection, both for herself and her relationships, and, being obstinately optimistic, she was determined to give perfection her best shot (or seventy) until she got it or died trying. She was also somewhat obsession with finishing whatever she started. This combination left no room for failure or surrender, and is called terminal addiction. The girl did not diagnose herself until she'd almost been killed.

"STOP!" She finally shouted at her life. "I'm exhausted and I can't remember where I wanted to be!
I don't LIKE this!
We're going too fast!"

So she stopped. She breathed. She slept. She thought. She gave some things up. And she didn't try so hard to be perfect.

She liked it much better.

She felt much more... alive.

She found she could grow better, instead of perfect, without such speed and strain.
She found she could enjoy her friends instead of working on her relationships.
She remembered what she wanted. And it was right. Not perfect, but right.
And she was glad she hadn't wasted more years missing the best she had for the perfect that would kill her.
So the girl who got it almost right the first time got it right almost the tenth year 'round. She doesn't take for granted what she gave up. She is no longer hell-bent on perfection, but is content to wander through shades of redemption to slow and subtle betters. She still slips back into her old ways sometimes, but she's old enough to know that as long as she slips back out again when she notices, that's alright.