“I have a vague recollection of having met you somewhere before, too,” she replied with a detached coolness that belied her racing heart and clammy palms to the unexpected but welcome interruption to her shopping by one of the most attractive men she’d ever met.
“Don’t make me take a mallet to you,” she said wickedly as she began to prepare the chicken breast she’d bought for her dinner.
It was little exchanges like this that made her apartment feel a little less lonely at night.
With a giggle followed by an almost imperceptible sigh, she rinsed the breast in water and patted it dry with a paper towel, and returned to the task at hand.
Who is the authentic me
The me I feel I am inside
Or the me that everyone sees in me
I feel you there
In a parallel Universe
The me that I haven’t lived up to in this one
Did you steal away my confidence
Maybe took more than your share
Do you laugh easily
And let harsh words roll off of your back
While I am still guarded after all these years trying not to be
And take everything people say to heart
Can we meet somewhere in-between our two worlds
What separates two parallels
Have an equal exchange
I’ll give you some of my excess
There must be something I’ve got that you want
I’ve summoned you
Too many times to count
Shaken out bottle after bottle
Finally smashed one to smithereens
Where have you been
Why won’t you answer my calls
Or are my wishes not meant to come true
Are you distracted elsewhere, dear genie o’ mine
I’m running out of faith, hope, and time
The clay of my youthful confidence
My birthright, my sense of worth
Was fret away early on
By rivulets of tears and snot
Sourced from enthusiasms bullied and bossed
Until over time there formed
A hard-won, hard-worn chip on my shoulder
That altered my stance forever
It’s hard to be open
Holding back so much
No one can reach me
No one can hurt me
No one can touch me
But who won what, I wonder
“Don’t be a crank,” she murmured to herself, catching herself for the thirtieth time in as many moments raking herself over the coals for the oversight she had made during the afternoon board meeting.
Two equally vocal self-parts were at war within: the part that finds any slight error a reason for killing oneself out of shame, and the part that longs to forgive and generously allow for such things, eager to defend well-intentioned human error at any moment.
Somewhere in-between those two internal parts sat a third part watching the whole thing, a part knew that both defense and crucification over such a thing as an error were sheer wastes of precious life energy, and so patiently awaited their voices to lose steam to get back to the moment at hand, which this part knew as the only moment that really mattered or even existed anyhow.
*Crank describes me after I realized that I totally spaced last night. I was studying for a job today, and somehow, I thought I wrote a blog post when I didn’t.
My internal Perfectionista is truly berating me for the oversight. But thankfully, no one’s like is at stake if I forgot for the second time in many, many months of fulfilling my commitment to myself to create at least once a day.
I guess yesterday I did create — I created a state of confusion!