I just really love staying in different places. It's all fantasy.
Everything feels cleaner and nicer and just generally better when it’s not mine. I feel like a grown up. It makes me want to brush AND floss every night. I fold my pants. I eat oranges. I mean I don’t just buy oranges, I actually eat them, and somehow even manage to peel them like how an adult would, in a way that doesn’t result in a pile of tiny orange peel-chips, and the white part of the rind trapped under my nails for the next two days.
Somehow, during my short stays in these beautiful places, I always seems to attempt to assume at least some aspect of the tenants personality. I wear my hair a little different, My stride changes. My posture improves. And somehow things just seem to become effortless when I'm not in my apartment; like blankets, for example. I can arrange a "throw" and it resembles something thrown, an uncomplicated afterthought. It rests. It drapes. For some reason, in my apartment, it simply becomes a wrinkled ball of fabric that I will curse for 15-20 minutes on end as I attempt to manipulate it into something you might see in a Crate and Barrel catalog featuring a fireplace and maybe someone's glasses on a table.
The most recent time I stayed overnight for a client, I noticed that I straight up attempted to assume the fucking identity of the woman in whose home I was sleeping (I mean, not like, stole her social security number or anything, I just...well, you'll see. Hang on, I'm gonna tell you about it right here -->). I took a photo of her dog in my lap and I noticed my smile almost exactly resembled the smiles she wears in all of her photos. NOT MY SMILE. I never smile like this. What the fuck?! Stephen Dorff is doing e-cig commericals? This is why I can’t have television, of all the things that having the tv on is not ideal for, writing is probably right up there at the top of the list, but if tv is there I will have that shit on 24 hours a day. I don’t even know what I’m watching (<– LIE! LIE! I’m watching a reality show about Amish people. It’s called Breaking Amish, and I’m not even gonna pretend I don’t totally know that). So but yeah, shapeshifting. I can recognize myself doing this in many aspects of my life. I do it a lot with phrases, language, handwriting, clothing, joke delivery, ANY FUCKING THING. If you do something a certain way, and I like the way it looks, wears or sounds, you best believe I will be secretly practicing on friends of mine you do not know, until it becomes my own.
I ain't too proud to admit that, either.
How does everyone just know how to be? How do you just know how to smile and you’re like “this is my smile, I’m totally secure and comfortable with it, I don’t even have to obsess over how my face may be looking completely insane and contorted right now”? Do most people not analyze every single thing about themselves under a fucking microscope? HOW DOES EVERYONE JUST DO STUFF?!
I'm not sure how everyone else seems to have gotten some sort of manual for life that I apparently missed out on (my guess? I overslept. That's why I miss out on most things.) I don't know what makes some people secure enough to be functional people in the actual world. I do understand why I am not one of these people, why even involuntary human reflexes send me into an existential spiral of self-defeat: it's because deep down, I believe I am worth less than everyone else. Don't get me wrong, at this point in the game, after all the therapy and other work I do with the thing I'm not supposed to talk about, that belief is pretty WAY deep down. But it's still there. Sometimes I can be like "oh yeah, BULLSHIT! Fucking asshole brain." But other times it is almost crippling, keeping me from trying anything different because I don't believe that I deserve to feel or experience anything other than lethargic, at best, And even other other times, it comes out in a way that's much more vague and insidious, subconsciously suggesting that if I maybe just tilt my head back and raise my closed mouth up to the left side that maybe, maybe then I can trick everyone into thinking that I'm not some fucking monster who's afraid of you and what you think of me.
I'm not positive where this antagonistic neurosis comes from (*cough-soundsalotlikemymom'svoice-cough*) but an unfortunate mix of races and body types resulting in a pile of toothpicks with a giant obsession-prone head that insists upon making my life miserable, certainly don't help.
So it's taken me a few years of hard work to attempt to un-hear the mean voice monologue that plays in my head all day, or at least, to come to terms with the idea that the mean voice is a full of shit liar who is a dick and should really just go fuck herself. I don't believe I'm a giant piece of shit today, and I even have reasons, TOTALLY SERIOUS REASONS.
proof that I am worthy:
-owns lots of sequins clothing (my 8 year old self would be really proud)
-Kardashian hair (when i wear it down. and actually brush it)
-HAVE I TOLD YOU GUYS I HAVE A DOG?!!!!!!!!
|yes, you have. a bunch.|
-pays rent on time
-can totally send you links to appropriate astrology guy forecast, depending upon what ails you
-doesn't cheat on people
-usually calls my mom back (within a couple of days)
-ummm...good at amateur dream analysis?
So you see Self, you clueless asshole, there are plenty of likable things about you, each one as worthy as the next. And plus, now that you have this all written up, if you ever need to create an online dating profile you can just copy and paste this shit.
-working knowledge of Micorsoft Office Suite