The best part of my life is moments like these.

I saw Saturn coming before he rounded the bend. Eager as a puppy to please my ego, at age 26 I took the advice of a witch. I was an appetizing individual in my early 20s and every girl I let close hurt me. Minnie told on me, Lindsay slapped me, Allison gaslit me and my own mother used me. The ample amount of good will I cultivated toward humanity built up in silos, imaginary humps on my back. Upper middle class repression, in living color, looks a whole lot like a spoiled brat being uppity. From my perspective, there’s no other way to act. Our actions define us the way regulars make a pub. Not exhibiting rebellion toward the culture that made me feels like tacit approval.

I did not achieve my full potential in childhood. That much is certain. Is that my parents fault? Yes. Is it my fault? For sure. Do various third parties garner some blame? Absolutely. Spending all my effort to avoid victimization and live a true life left me wide open to numerous bullies and vampires. Anyone that treated me like a friend won my trust. Not all of those people were my friends. If I’d had a dick, it would have been sucked often. I shoulder the majority of shame for how long I took me to wake up. The golden lining is how easily I can see through people now. A useful skill in the Capital of Passive Aggression.

I try not to speak in absolutes whenever possible. I also make conscious effort to not use the word really in everyday speech, with less success. If I describe something to be the best, a sort of absolute, it’s with a certain amount of chagrin. Literally, I have no basis for declaring anything the best. My subjective reasoning is barely capable of a biased ranking system, let alone any scale worth measuring on. On the other hand, I have witnessed moments in time that are consensually amazing. A beautiful moment that we personally savor must be the best in at least one timeline. Like my love of Jack Nicholson as The Joker.

Some of my heroes are white men but none of them are conventionally handsome. My bigger heroes are mostly women and the minuscule grace I possess comes from their inspiration. I’m never going to douse myself in honey naked on a stage but I have no doubt I would if given the chance. My body can’t possibly contain any artful expression or I would have discovered it by now. Any attempt I make now is just vomiting words under a spotlight. No expectation of connection any more than the fly fisher anticipates their catch. My life dulls the senses and the most I hope for is a memoir. In lieu of that, maybe I can foster some kids and start an old dog rescue. A girl can dream, right?

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