I had to ask my neighbor to help me move a couch yesterday. A few months ago, I could have bench-pressed his Toyota. There's a jar of pickles in my kitchen that I haven't been able to open yet. How truly pathetic.

Did you know I keep a comic collection? Don't tell anyone. It's a silly habit of mine that I started when I was a girl. I used to tell my parents that I was going to be a superhero when I grew up. They indulged me, the way parents will, but I knew it. I was going to be something.

Superman had his Doomsday and Lex Luthor. Spiderman had a whole plethora of supervillains. Me? I got a whiny teenager with a crush on an amnesiac. Oh yeah. That's fair.

The thing comics don't tell you is that superheroes don't really exist. The X-Men? They're not superheroes by any stretch of the imagination. They're freedom fighters who just happen to be fighting for everyone. They're policemen with cooler toys. They're human, like the rest of us. Superheroes are somewhat larger than life.

A superhero isn't supposed to fail.

Do you know what it's like to be able to fly, flight, and be damn near invulnerable, and then wake up and have it all gone? It's death without the promise of heaven at the end. It's being in love with someone that was never really yours.

In short, it sucks.

I had forgotten what a paper cut was like. My fingers are all bandaged up from the paperwork the government gave me. That's right, I go from Carol Danvers, field agent extraordinaire to Carol Danvers, paper pusher. The joys of being a one-time Ms. Marvel.

I didn't even get my confrontation scene. By the time I woke up, the brat had taken off, courtesy one stolen gift of flight. I didn't even get to punch her in her pretty soul-sucking face.

She's an Anne Rice vampire without the suaveness of a Lestat. She touches you and takes the things you treasure most dear. She's a pretender and a deceiver who steals your life and then pouts that "Ah didn't mean to." Cry me a freaking river, Scarlett.

The witch gave me my first gray hairs too. The Clairol hair dye in "light blonde" keeps it to a minimum. But if you look really closely, you can see a few strands of silver mixed with the gold.

But I'm the bad guy, right? I'm the one that tried to turn the X-Men against her. What would you have done? I'm a government agent. I'm trained to root out potential threats and then eliminate them. If that makes me cold, fine. But don't come crying to me when the next Magneto comes knocking at your door. Sorry toots, Carol let that one slip through because he had a pretty face and seemed nice enough.

The worst part is that I was right. I could accept it if I had been wrong. That would have been plain foolishness and rashness on my part. If I had kept pushing her until she had no option, I'd have deserved everything that was coming for me.

She absorbed me because of a crush on a guy I wasn't even after. That's just humiliating.

Wonder Woman never had this problem.

Logan says I'm probably running around in her head somewhere. The thought of a mini-me driving her skunk-haired self crazy is a bit reassuring. Give her hell, Carol. Give her hell like I would be.

My bloody neighbor is knocking on the door, probably to come ask if I need any more furniture moved. He finds it just hilarious that the same woman who once threatened to throw him clear across to China now needs his help moving sofas. Jerk.

The X-Men? They could care less. They kept me long enough to make sure I wasn't going to die, then sent me on my merry little way. Sorry our little pumpkin stole your psyche, Carol. Isn't she just the little rebel? Wankers. Logan was probably the only one who gave a damn, but even he took off after the kid. Figures.

I have trouble remembering some things. I guess they got lost in "the theft," as I have dubbed it. I know I was engaged once to a man I loved dearly. We broke it off, but for the life of me, I can't remember why. To be honest, I barely remember his last name.

There are about twelve messages on my machine from my parents, telling me that "We still love you, baby" and "You know you can come home any time, right?" They're thrilled about what happened, I just know it. They hated it when their perfect little daughter was suddenly juggling buildings in her arms. After all, that's just not normal. It's okay for other people to be different, but not their little girl, their angel.

I should get a cat or something. It gets lonely around here when you have nothing to do but sit around and fill out paperwork. I don't remember my life being so dreadfully dull. Don't I have friends? Have I forgotten them all too? Somehow I don't think so. I guess tracking mutant terrorists and beating them to a pulp doesn't leave much time for Saturday night movies with the gang.

It wasn't supposed to be this way.