He also said, regarding my facial hair, "If God gave you the power to grow a handlebar mustache, who are you to spit in his face?"
I feel like a kid today. I listened to my recorded self and it's awful. I'm so young-sounding, and the words, my choice of words even sounded like Buster trying on Daddy's pants and slippers.
Aw, how cute. Look at Buster try and run.
At what point am I supposed to take myself seriously? At what point do I expect others to?
It's a process, though, it isn't simple. You're right, Orit. You're right.
History isn't simple.
And you know what? Orit is right about something else. To what I am testifying? What memory do I have that's of any use?
I wish I had some perspective that was different, but gee Golly, I can't prove that I do, and if I did, it would be proof of one in six billion other proofs.
Well aren't we all different and special in our own way?
I thought about writing names before I used names in this entry. Because who are you, reader, to know about whom I'm referring? I could just be writing, Alionka (Ah-lee-áhn-ka), right? I could just be writing. Right Hannah? Right Brenda Smalley and Jennifer Crooks?
I could, and you never can tell.
3 comments:
Orit is right about so much.
But, what's in a name? There's something beautiful about ambiguity. Just my feeling.
On a liner note, all analysis from you is fair analysis. Just my opinion.
Really? Is it fair analysis because I constantly argue both sides?
I actually have no idea at what age we're supposed to take ourselves seriously. Every year on my birthday I say, "this is the year I become an adult". Still not there yet.
My advice to you is to embrace you're inner Buster (and to stay away from handle bar moustaches).
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