Friday, December 1, 2017

In a manner of speaking

I've spent so much time these past few years, looking for something to wear, as if I've been looking for who I want to be, when really: who I actually am is obviously of considerably more importance. I've spent so much time thinking that who I was, was better. Whether it's true, or not, isn't inconsequential, or irrelevant, or a matter of no concern, but it is increasingly difficult to fathom the apparent distance, between the expected result and the actual outcome of this little experiment.To be kind, it's not that I'm getting worse and worse; it's just that I thought I would have learned a few more lessons, by now.

This evening I was watching the late news on tv, and found myself musing on the sportscaster's habit, or way of speaking, and how this particular fellow seemed like a man who must have had a dream in his youth of becoming a sportscaster. He was still young, but overweight and middle-aged beyond his years, and spoke with a seemingly effortless intonation, on key and on point. Listening to his lilt, I had a minor recollection of pursuing a dream, however briefly, right before it occurred to me that it must be so much easier, truly, to play a role which somebody else has already invented.

My house is literally littered with costumes I've made and worn, for a long-running one-woman show with a sparse audience."Clothes don't make the man", they say, but I'm not quite sure the same holds as true for women. I suppose a lot depends on how critical it is for the person wearing the clothes (e.g., pants?) to manipulate their environment in order to gain advantage, or favor, or perhaps simply to create a more pleasant experience, or even for more altruistic reasons, if there were such a thing. And here we are, once again, as I digress...

The point I'm trying to make, or to get to, is that--actually, there is no point. There's no point in putting lipstick on a pig, which is not to say that I am the pig or that this post is, but only to employ yet another questionable idiom in an effort to convey how truly pointless an undertaking it is, going to pains to appear a certain way (together, for example), if that way is other than we actually are, or--more futile yet--other than the way we want to be. Then again, what's perceived through the senses, of appearances and such, can be a strong determining factor in how we assess situations, and people--even people we know quite well (including ourselves, sometimes). The way your love looks to you, is this something you can know without seeing? If the eyes, as they say, are the window, then in many ways it really is true that what you see, is what you get. 

What's my conflict here, and where's my resolution? Where am I going with this? Is this an actual story, or just another late-night journal entry? You may be asking yourself, what am I doing here?

That's just one of many questions I ask myself every morning, while I'm looking for something to wear.


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