On Nothing

I think I enjoy the challenge of a life that resists perfection. This is made all the more ironic because I tend to crave it...not perfection per se, but my version of it.
I can devote precious time, energy and thought into orchestrating the 'perfect' gift, the 'perfect' life, the 'perfect' insignificant other. Essentially this means that I can never win, which brings me to account for my hypocrisy. I have always considered myself disjointed from the rat race and the norm, but I crave normalcy even if it is of an unconventional, bohemian variety. This means a whole lot of time and energy spent in the struggle to appear, sound and think different...but I wonder, if one has to try to market oneself than which version is the self...the marketer or the product or neither? I suppose in some manner everyone thinks they are different, which would make everyone the same now wouldn't it?

The smallest things are setting up tent in my cerebrum at present: the newly discovered taste of a mohito (a Japanese variety of the Gin Martini with mint); the fact that I haven't clipped my toenails in a while and just today decided to wear new khussa's which means my feet are dying; the shame that always follows in the very rare instances where I feel I may be attracted to another human being and frame an immediate rebuttal to convince myself to counter the attraction with denial before I can be discarded, although it just happened to follow through in reverse order this time around; the many pending projects that I desperately wish to take on but am too scared to...like teaching, sponsoring children and learning the blasted guitar; the underlying twinge of guilt at the fact that I am sitting at work freezing under the blast of the air conditioner and the heat wave outside has people fainting by the dozens; the fact that my job is ridiculous and I cannot - with a straight face - pronounce that I am working for an Entertainment Department that produces soaps, which has driven me to write and attend press conferences again to seek some sense of vindication; the self-congratulatory sighs of relief in my head for the fact that should I eventually choose to leave this place I already have at least six great offers; the Watchdog Warden in my conscience telling me not to be cavalier regarding my future; the Bohemian Bandit in my soul reiterating that the future is meaningless if the me living it isn't me; the overwhelming nostalgia of listening to Rachmaninov's Third Symphony for the past 20 minutes; the fact that all I had for lunch was salad and I can't help but dream of pizza right now, that and a coke...a glorious, icy, frothy tank full of Coke; the terrifying notion that is making me think that I may very well be a profound narcissist concealed in the guise of an overtly polite, timid, smiley girl; my reading of Richard Dawkin's and his 'God delusion' solidifying my shaky negation of all dogma begging me to finally take that plunge, come out of the closet and openly admit that I am - after all is said, done and damned- an Agnostic; The fact that I told my mother yesterday to simply 'tell me what to do to feel less alone' and her response was that I should lose ten pounds, and that doing so would solve all my problems.

So here's to losing that poundage.
Can't knock it till I've tried it.