VII.

I’ve been slacking. I think I cringed myself out a little bit with this, lol. But then I realized who really cares. I don’t even know if anyone’s reading this and the thought of someone actually reading this kind of makes me laugh out loud. A win’s a win. Whatever. Lately I’ve been finding comfort in the mystery. Viewing myself as an other, as a painting, sitting down and reading my life like a novel. When I look back at my life, I have this weird separation from it. Almost a disbelief that the eyes I see in old photos are my eyes and I’m the one looking back at them now. It sounds cheesy but it really is trippy the more you think about it. Can I be two things at once? As a kid, I remember interrogating my parents on every existential question I could think of. “Mom why did you have me just for me to die?” “How do I live if I’ll never know the answers?” I was seven, and I still have the same questions twenty years later. I always found it unimaginable that everyone wasn’t freaking the fuck out all the time. What do you mean nothing else matters but this? What do you mean “live life to the fullest”? What is the container that’s holding all of life’s “fullness” anyway? I could go on and on. But I guess for now I’ll just go to work and come home and do laundry and cook and pretend like I know what’s going on. And then I realize, that’s probably what everybody’s thinking and I wonder if that’s the only answer I’ll ever get.