My body and my soul are connected. How did I miss that? Today I'm feeling the emotional flood of "that time of the month," and I'm mad at everyone around me for not delighting in me, not making me feel beautiful and unique and indispensable.
Oh, how the woman I am longs to be known. I'm so sick of leaving my home and taking on the identity I've created, the me I present to the world, that I understand completely how people eventually give up, go to bed and eat their way to 1000 pounds or more. In my bed, I'm me. In my home, I move gracefully and create things that make sense to me.
Out there it's scary. Things that should be beautiful are as dirty and fragile as plastic always becomes, no matter how smooth and white it started out. I should be able to do something about it. I need to find my super hero outfit.
No one else knows about it, and I've never actually seen it, but it's made of denim and crepe and embroidery floss and beads, and when I finally put it on it will swirl around me and everyone will know who I really am.
Until then, I'll try to stay mild-mannered, try to get by on ordinary strength and live without my real powers. But it's getting old.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
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