I’m tightly wound around the pretentiousness of my own ambiguity, but to break the paradigm, lemme esplain:
I am pretty partial to this pair of ideas: that I am conceited, and incomprehensible. Why would I care to exhibit and boast either of these traits, though? Because they are inherently value judgments on my character, and if I judge myself so harshly it allows me to believe that others must, undoubtedly, be paying just enough attention to judge. I’ll reiterate without modifiers: “Because I believe others must be paying attention.”
Lemme reiterate and rearrange the syntagmatic and one paradgimatic and make an addendum: “Because I must believe others [are] paying attention [to me].”
Must in the 2nd definition: “under the necessity to”. The example given at dictionary.com is as dire as, “[a]nimals must eat to live.” I won’t cease to live if I don’t think people are paying attention, but I will cease to make progress. And as soon as I recognize stagnation, I go somersaulting backwards.
I’m not sure for whose sake, but I have some evidence of the person I’ve been in only the past month. In order of importance:
A Rubenesque and greedy malcontent in a size-2 culture who refuses to control her spending on caloric intake (and is compulsive-impulsive when food is free).
An indifferent escort, reluctant to be stamped but desiring the amour of her suitor and admiring his personhood while simultaneously being selfish and boorish and coy enough to withhold the ideals of commitment or fidelity.
An unceasingly loving boss but a somewhat-defiant subordinate with a paranoiac complex and an inconsistent self-manager who cries when you make her alone for more than four hours.
A nonexistent sister or daughter and an unambitious student and a wholly absent musician and a timeshare kind of friend.
In short, in many ways ugly.
About andpantomime
Poems Going Sideways for Books Printed in Wingdings
November 6, 2011 at 12:39am
"This is the anthemic serenade to a girl, from the part of her that isn't enough for herself, about the parts of her that are too much for other people. And we're not going to sing it, because it doesn't even need to be said but for some reason we're writing it down.
You ruminate wearily over the way you want to be loved. It's got to be verse, and it's got to be clever, and it's got to be melody. You find in yourself at once both an envy for others' companionship and a bubbling distaste for the entire idea. You are proud and haughty and quiet and quick and alone, preferably. You allow yourself caffeine over sleep, alliteration over rhyme, preoccupation over vocation, and an internal sense of commitment to everything which does not ask it of you. Your eyes talk exhaustion to your heart, which is distracted by the water cooler chatter of your mind. Your feet are frantic.
This is the time to believe in more and do less. This is the time to be awake and running and happening - this is the time to occur. Moment for moment, instead of depositing soul into an emotional institution which is going to go bankrupt and never reimburse your abililty to feel, you should be touching and living and crying and breathing both out and in. Only registering exhales is only counting disappointment. Better yet, look around for the times that take your breath away. Blessings line your life, including a command to count them.
It's about to be cold and you should put your socks on and your big-girl heart-armor and go into a new season with the hope that your shield breaks. Somebody could break your shield if you would only put a few cracks in it. However; such a subjunctive subordinates itself to your reality and you miss the spontaneity of living - however real or imagined it ever was."
View all posts by andpantomime
Lost in translation 
October 16th, 2012 at 12:01 PM
Megan, this is really, really sad, but not at all hopeless. You have my number. Use it, for pity’s sake! Maria C.
October 16th, 2012 at 3:06 PM
The early twenties of one’s life are characterized by straining against the seemingly hard-wired biological traits – often ugly – that we’ve been saddled with as we try to move towards our ideals.
The best we can ever reasonably hope to attain is a happy medium.
October 17th, 2012 at 2:06 AM
I have to respectfully disagree with you, Zach. Megan has professed faith in Christ, and by that, has no business striving for a happy medium. All of her presumed and/or real neuroses and defects are utterly drenched in the blood of Jesus, leaving Megan spotless, blameless, and perfectly free, if she will only realize it.