24 June 2010

Who Am I Kidding?

In college I dated a lanky art student who once invited me to the university's art studio. He painted, Pixies playing in the background, while I read on the sidelines -- happy as a fireside-napping tabbycat.

We didn't date long. I probably gummed things up by getting overly pre-occupied with him, or maybe I just wasn't his type. In any case, we didn't drop our respective veils enough to let the other in on our secrets. There was one exception: he told me that every once in a while he would be felled by insecurities that showed up in the form of the question: Who am I kidding?

I immediately adopted the phrase for my own. Even today, all these years later, there is a distinct satisfaction in how those words distill my anxieties so succinctly. Who am I kidding?

Welcome to one such phase of self-annihilation.



A fellow writer friend told me last week over drinks that my latest blog posts seemed to be teetering on the verge of increased self-revelation. That was very perceptive of her; I'm not even sure I knew that was happening.

It is true that I've made a conscious effort to keep things on the frothier side around here, not wishing to plum the depths of my soul out in the bare air of the WORLDWIDE web. That's a lot of eyes.

And yet at the same time those depths are too big a part of the operation around here to ignore. So I'm going to brave it, a little at a time. We'll see how it goes.

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