Where's my kind?
I read once that you should write your obsessions. Not only for yourself but to find your kind.
What really matters is what you like, not what you are like. -by the wise Nick Hornby.
But what if what you like runs across myriad interests/genres…how do you find your peers then? Likes/dislikes often fluctuate for me; they go through seasons of renewal and boomerang back again, while others are left for dead. Perhaps that’s everyone.
I cut myself this morning by accident while making breakfast, and I thought about how the body is simultaneously mysterious, surprising in its wisdom, and also entirely disgusting. And then one day, ta-da!, our bodies betray us in the worst of ways—sometimes quickly, often slowly. Our unchosen costume for this too-short grand play. Our faces: a map of practiced emotions. Our hands: clues as to how we spend our days.
My therapist said not to see
you no more
She said you're like a disease
without any cure
She said I'm so obsessed that
I'm becoming a bore, oh no
Happy Sunday, and keep sharing your weird.