I play dodge with anyone who flings this water-balloon at me, including myself. Usually, I sit in-front of my machine, write a couple of sentences, get distracted/overwhelmed and my focus shifts onto something else - a trip to the kitchen, a new tab on my browser for music, another new tab on my browser to read something to accompany the music, a bathroom trip - just about anything. To be fair, I am writing more in my journal (not as much as I would like to, yet - but more than before) and my brain and fingers' protest-screams are getting more feeble with every visit.
We were at a grocery store this one time and a sign saying that eye-pencils were on sale stared at my face. [Stores offer as much help as one needs in making impulsive decisions and keeping you in the premises for as long as possible - so grocery stores also sell clothes and makeup; clothing stores also sell furniture, and house-hold goods stores also sell grocery (the world is round, after all.)]
So, this 'blackest-black' pencil looked at me like an unhappy puppy desiring my attention, and I puppy-eyed Evan in return. His reaction was that of disbelief ("You want a fourth one?!" "umm, I don't have a black one for when I am not wearing blue, green or brown!") and laughed at me in the same decibel I use on him when we are in the ice-cream aisle. He was still laughing when he said that I was "So (oo) vain!".
(gulp!)
His observation was made on a very light note, meant to be forgotten after an affected reaction of hurt; but the anion of its truth stayed with me and much later led me down the spiral corridors of my mind's catacombs.
Among all the things I take pride in, not being narcissistic is one of them (!) Rigorous convent-schooling has embossed the idea that any emotion greater-than-or-equal-to self-love is inappropriate. As a consequence, more often than not, I find myself trapped in the region of less-than-or-equal-to self-acceptance. ugh.
On occasions that I get a glimpse of my vanity in life's rear view mirror, it shames and disturbs me so much that I have to go into hiding to unravel and re-crochet my disoriented mind-space. The otherwise suspended, mostly harmless fat-drops of conceit coalesce into a colossal cannibal who devours me in one giant gulp and I find myself staring in disbelief at the Tetris pieces that just won't line-up.
I am not quite sure of the point I am trying to make. Perhaps what I am getting at is how everybody is made of good pieces and the less-than flattering bits. So, maybe the narration here should include the not-so-stellar aspects too. That would be far more ground-level than the everyday circus on social media -- proclamations of being the best and the demand for validation. Our fragile sense of self-worth has become so naked under these floodlights. ["All the world's a stage..."]
We'll see what's next.
We were at a grocery store this one time and a sign saying that eye-pencils were on sale stared at my face. [Stores offer as much help as one needs in making impulsive decisions and keeping you in the premises for as long as possible - so grocery stores also sell clothes and makeup; clothing stores also sell furniture, and house-hold goods stores also sell grocery (the world is round, after all.)]
So, this 'blackest-black' pencil looked at me like an unhappy puppy desiring my attention, and I puppy-eyed Evan in return. His reaction was that of disbelief ("You want a fourth one?!" "umm, I don't have a black one for when I am not wearing blue, green or brown!") and laughed at me in the same decibel I use on him when we are in the ice-cream aisle. He was still laughing when he said that I was "So (oo) vain!".
(gulp!)
His observation was made on a very light note, meant to be forgotten after an affected reaction of hurt; but the anion of its truth stayed with me and much later led me down the spiral corridors of my mind's catacombs.
Among all the things I take pride in, not being narcissistic is one of them (!) Rigorous convent-schooling has embossed the idea that any emotion greater-than-or-equal-to self-love is inappropriate. As a consequence, more often than not, I find myself trapped in the region of less-than-or-equal-to self-acceptance. ugh.
On occasions that I get a glimpse of my vanity in life's rear view mirror, it shames and disturbs me so much that I have to go into hiding to unravel and re-crochet my disoriented mind-space. The otherwise suspended, mostly harmless fat-drops of conceit coalesce into a colossal cannibal who devours me in one giant gulp and I find myself staring in disbelief at the Tetris pieces that just won't line-up.
I am not quite sure of the point I am trying to make. Perhaps what I am getting at is how everybody is made of good pieces and the less-than flattering bits. So, maybe the narration here should include the not-so-stellar aspects too. That would be far more ground-level than the everyday circus on social media -- proclamations of being the best and the demand for validation. Our fragile sense of self-worth has become so naked under these floodlights. ["All the world's a stage..."]
We'll see what's next.
