oh god, i am so good at it. making less of myself, in a very funny way. always so funny. if there weren’t funny there, you might get concerned, and god knows, i don’t want any attention.
i was pawing through the junk corner to find a notebook to make a grocery list. It used to be just a junk drawer, but things have spread.
I found one, and in flipping to an empty page, i found some old writings, from back when i had time and a brain that was fluid and beautiful. there is no date but subject matter declares it to be several years old.
i’m going to quote from my own self here, there is no way to humbly quote oneself, so give me a pass today. context: i must’ve had an ugly/tense exchange with the ex via text, and was having the ugly/tense reaction privately in ink. It is not funny, as private doesn’t need that bit, does it? but I do love the imagery. Here it is:
Damnit. the time flows already, that wine river of regret. these things i want to be finished with, the list goes on and murders me firsthand with little to no hesitation.
the ex of course, i want to be done, to have no time in which i still have to cajole and negotiate with his ego.
to be done with doubt, to be done and finished and finally grown up, to be finished. my impatience is legion, doubts sway my progress and i fold and fold and fold in, like origami layered, no swan but a tank of layers, a solid block of onion skin. seems so doubt enters when i am self-effacing.
self-effacing. what a term. a thinning one does to oneself and how transparent will i allow myself to become as i go?
me.
—
Right? it seems an opposition, this tank of folding and self-effacing humor, but it isn’t… its just another game of hiding. Ooh boy, yes.
