I am a complete idiot.

You can call me an old romantic if you like, but I really don't hold with any of that "you complete me" shite.
(You were wrong to call me romantic weren't you. Misleading of me to have given you the option really, wasn't it.)
I just don't like the notion that there are half-baked people wandering about out there waiting for, nay expecting, someone else to finish them off. It's all part of my yen for people to take responsibility for themselves.
Also, I wanted to be sure I was complete before I met the man of my dreams (actually, I don't know if I hold with that "man of my dreams" crap either. Especially considering my dreams.) I didn't want him put off by me being only half a being. I also think it's unfair to lay that all on someone. "Here you are, I'm all yours, if you could just fill in the gaps." An amorous dot-to-dot, if you will.
Much better to be all there, ready, waiting and able to commit to something more than a half-arsed affair. Don't you think?

While we're at it (well, while I'm at it) what exactly is meant by "complete" anyway? Is it like the child at the dinner table who proudly declares, "Finished!" when he has room for no more, not a single morsel? (Except maybe for chocolate cake). I certainly don't consider myself complete in that sense. I've always got room for more (especially chocolate cake) and intend to always be open to taking on more from life. (Especially chocolate cake).
Well, by complete I mean that I have worked on all aspects of myself.
At least all the aspects of myself that have made themselves apparent thus far.
I've not thought, "I'm not a forthright kind of person. I'll just hook up with somebody who can fight all my battles for me." Instead, I've tried to be as assertive as possible, or I've simply chosen to run away, arms flailing.
Either way, I've taken care of the situation myself without sitting back and getting my "other half" to do my dirty work for me.

I can't be absolutely sure but I think this rant is borne of exhaustion. I have found that sleep deprivation leads to several stages of torment.
In my case it's quite simple: Stage one is a moaning, disgruntled one, followed by stage two, where I'm still disgruntled, but I'm too tired to moan about it. Stage three and I'm so tired I've forgotten I'm tired, so I'm actually deliriously happy. Stage four; I've remembered and I'm quite angry about it, although I only have the energy to mutter of my discontent under my breath. Stage five is where I'm at today. I am tired and unhappy about it, and spontaneous ranting occurs. Some rants are pertinent to the main problem in hand: my lack of sleep. Others are random (see above).
Stage six? Well let's hope I don't get to stage six. I'm a pain in the arse to be around already, so let's hope for the sake of my family that I get some bloody kip tonight.
And some chocolate cake.

By the way, if any incomplete people are reading this, take my advice and go ahead and complete yourself. That way when the next half decent person comes your way you can tell them to take a hike: you'll be wanting a whole decent person like yourself.

Thank you for reading this.
The whole thing.
Bye for now.