I am always so tired now.

No matter what I do, I cannot seem to shake the all-encompassing feeling of complete exhaustion. Sometimes, when I sit alone in my chambers in a brief instance of privacy, I laugh to myself about how I do not even have time to feel weary.

I rarely laugh, at least not in private. In public I often have to paste a perfect smile to my perfect lips and laugh a perfect dainty laugh. Maybe that is the problem.

Maybe I am just tired of perfect.

I have always been perfect; I have never known anything else. I have always been intelligent, pretty, and rich. I have always been powerful and envied because of my power. I have always been the girl that makes girls pout as I walk by and men catch their breath.

At least, I used to be. I don't know anymore.

What is so good about all that anyway? What is so good about beauty, intelligence, or wealth? What does it matter in the end? When we are laid to rest we are all the same anyway; we all end up a pile of decomposed matter regardless of who we are in life.

Excuses. I am just making excuses. I am weary of life, and I am trying to justify myself. I know this, and I admit it, but I cannot seem to stop myself.

I would tell you what is happening in my life, but I am sure you already know. In a land such as ours, the moment that you enter the public sphere your dinner plans start ending up in the newspapers. 'Breaking News: Glinda the Good Witch Likes Pastries!' Well, yes. Who doesn't?

I know that I have plenty to be thankful for. I have everything that so many people wish for but never achieve, and I take it all for granted. I complain about it!

The nerve!

I truly must be crazy. There is no other explanation for why a still young and beautiful woman is sitting alone in her room rambling and cursing her own existence. Growing up I always laughed at women like that: now look at me.

I was perfect; I was tired of society and I became the change that Oz needed at the time when it needed a change the most. Now, I am just tired.