Ramble on

Oh you know, just sitting at my desk, polishing off a burrito after I’ve already eaten a Chik-fil-a kid’s meal, planning on where I’m going to source some chocolate from (vending machine, co-workers, purse, …trash?) so I can continue today’s tradition of eating nonstop since I had a giant chocolate chip Vietnamese pastry for breakfast, feeling, among other things, sorry for myself—not because I’m some sort of fat om nom nom monster today since I’ve already come to terms with that, but maybe for some reasons I don’t know, though I know, mostly, and I can’t stop listening to St. Vincent even though she’s all I’ve listened to for about three weeks straight now, but her music is beautiful and discordant enough to be just the right amount of imperfect so that it’s perfect.

There’s a bottle of children’s cough syrup on my desk because a company sent it to a name of someone who works here who doesn’t actually work here, and it looks sort of like I have either a childlike disease that requires a child’s medicine or like I’m trying to prove I don’t have a drinking problem, “See? I don’t have to have it to get me through the day,” but then again I also had a plush bumblebee with an asian baby’s face sitting on my desk for a while, so maybe I’ve inadvertently been sending signals for people to stay away from my desk/me, but nonetheless, awkward IT people seem to think it’s totally fine to randomly walk up to my desk apropos of nothing and grab my box of peanut butter Puffins cereal and read the label and go, “hm.” and walk away.

I’m starting to wonder what I look like to other people. How I seem. I used to be so wrapped up in my head and so “self-aware” and touted my “self-awareness” as some sort of badge of honor or a reason to think I was better than other people or maybe just a way to say, “I know I’m like this, I’m sorry.” And over the past year or few years, I’ve lost that overburdening false sense of self—because you can know as many things about yourself as you want, but you still end up missing everything around you anyway and you think you know how people perceive you and what everyone’s thinking and you don’t because you’re just selfishly balled up inside your brain, berating yourself and judging others and you somehow don’t see that you’ve been upside down this whole time even though you “knew” you were upside down or that everyone else was upside down—and now I just … am. I be. I exist. And now I selfishly wonder what that I am be looks like to other people. Maybe I’m just using it as a way to analyze myself because I’m missing something about myself? I see a dichotomy between who I am and what people think of me, but maybe everyone sees me exactly how I see myself. But I don’t see myself anymore because I. am. myself. What were we talking about?

I’m on a mission to stop saying sorry about things I don’t need to apologize for.