I had a post before this that remains a draft. My apologies for the break. I was going to ask, or is apology a weakness? But no. I brave up and say I'm sorry, as I often do, especially here where I'm brave enough to do so, yet for the most part is because the apology is for myself. Let's get on with things.
<3 <3 <3
I, like most one year olds, catch myself looking into reflective surfaces quite often. Perhaps not as often as a certain friend of mine whom I like to taunt, but nonetheless. Some days, I see me, and physically, many refer to that as cute. It's a term coined for petite girls with flat hair, an eye slightly bigger than the other, and freckles that do not allow them to look their actual age.
Some days, I see a considerably uglier version of me (a version one might find in many "tagged," or better yet "untagged" Facebook photos), but it's me regardless. Sometimes a bit of titanium dioxide and octinoxate can aid it, but really I just find that a Mary-Kayed version of myself is simply me with makeup on top of my face.
Other days I see someone else, with freckles faded a bit and cheekbones defined a bit more, looking much more ethereal, older, and perhaps even pretty. (Ha. Not that today was one of those days.) Not narcissistic a bit, I mind you (from previous entries one might notice the insecurities), but something perhaps capable of being a face to my soul--what I like to think of as the feeling when you press your hands against the wind outside the window of your '02 Civic while you blaze down a highway at dusk on your way home from Oklahoma.
I wonder, on occasion, what all the different faces could mean. That maybe when I'm ugly, I'm in a rancid mood or that I'm being considerably snappy with my companions. I'd explain further, but if you haven't already gotten it, you probably won't; and besides, the point is I don't think that could be a correct theory because, analyzing the circumstances, they don't quite correlate.
I did wonder, though, if it was meant to be yesterday's karma instead. Not that I can remember how horrid I acted to those around the day before, but it's a thought to add to "beauty sleep" (which also doesn't quite correlate, if you ask me).
My point's not on hot or not ratings, however, nor do I usually really have much of a point anyways. But if there were one, and this wasn't me, just returning to blogspot, cranking out a few words once again, it might be related to…well, I dunno. Who's me, and self-awareness, and finding yourself, and yadayada. It's about looking at your hands and knowing or not knowing what they're good for.
One day, you know, I shall be surrounded by wonderful beings that aren't quite aware of how talented they are, for the most part. Well, I do believe some of them know. Much like the previously mentioned lady--just some days, depending on the state of mind, she forgets.
But me, I don't really know what I'm doing--and not that any of us do, but while most people have gone archaeologist on themselves and dug up a gift bone, I don't think I know what mine is. Even this, it's funny; I seem so calm and thoughtful as I type away like I always do here, but it could never be my real voice. This is the voice in my head, and it's mine, like the girl in the mirror is me, but not quite. I rarely am capable of sounding this collected in person. Especially around new people, or ones I need to impress--I kind of start barfing over my own words, so I generally find myself holding them all in instead.
Isn't it strange, to watch old videos of yourself? I'll probably post some here in another tone eventually. But sometimes I can faintly recall the memory, like a fairly vivid dream, and others are gone to me entirely. But isn't strange? Shouldn't you, unless you've had a brain contusion, you, who is living a continuous stream of consciousness (with bits of sub & un sleep-time), shouldn't you remember? (And who knows? Maybe you do and I'm just the freak.) And I'm not suggesting that you'd necessarily feel yourself change as you naturally do over such a long span of time, but shouldn't you at least feel like you still?
Generally, when I watch those videos, because I like to do such things…I don't watch it as if it were me. I'm fascinated by it, like Freud et al. by their studies, but I don't feel like the same person, even due to change. Yet I feel closer to me yesterday? which is why I can recall stories for my other dumb blog.
But are we the same person? Because I sure can't remember what those little blonde pigtails were thinking. I know it was me…was, I subconsciously said. So are there different me's? Maybe all the me's in the mirror are different people? Maybe this voice is a different voice, and maybe I won't remember what I was thinking at this moment when I go back and read this (ha) in due time? Am I three in one, like those supernatural stories in Sunday school?
Perhaps that concept isn't so hard to grasp after all.
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