Who Concedes the Need?

December 18, 2012 § Leave a comment

How does a man have self-esteem when he’s barely allowed to admit that his body contains testerone? “Vanity” and “positive self-image” have been assigned as the male and female definitions of the same thing. Woman, though, musn’t admit a desire or need for man. So, everyone’s alone: the man tired of rejection and the woman who won’t relinquish the first-right to reject. He’s gone from being what he thinks she wants to what he knows he is, but still hopes it’s what she wants. (The faith weakens, but it never dies.) He stops pursuing and waits for her to stop waiting for him. So, they’re both alone. Who’s wait is more significant? Less impatient? Who concedes the need?

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Vaporize an Edifice

July 20, 2012 § 4 Comments

What constituent of anxiety is a bad conscience? How much of a bad conscience is vanity? I keep the chip teetering on the shoulder, when I could as easily let fall. Why do I wake at three a.m.? and why do I think of Herself when I do? I don’t actually think anything of her–it’s just a reflexive nuisance of a catalyst for other worrries, mostly all the necessary mundanities that make up the foundation of what we call a life in this society. Those things are never all out of the way, and every last one of them is an intrusion. My refusal to see them as anything else or to accept them wholly as benign necessities is the crux of my anxiety. My conscience is a factor insomuch as I haven’t forgiven myself all my transgressions, but as I’m finding forgiveness to be a letting-go of guilt, I’m finding less to ask forgiveness of or apologize for. How can what is so easily built be so difficult to dismantle? How could anything be so stable resting on a cloud? How could these questions not vaporize such an edifice?

Can I Ever Stop Wanting the Answers?

March 13, 2012 § Leave a comment

Speculation is a vanity of the imagination. There are many questions to ask, but do they need answered? What will be satisfied? Who’s truth will be told? If I were to run into Herself tomorrow I couldn’t ask one of those questions of her. Some things don’t matter if they only matter to you. Then you let go of them. Or you eventually only ask them rhetorically–and not snidely, either. They will always matter, really. I will answer them myself, but not with speculation. I only know my side. My truth will be incomplete. Accepting the impossibility of her corroboration and trusting my own understanding of it will be my letting go. I have to trust even what I’m not sure of–become sure of it–because it’s as sure as I will ever be. How true can that be? Can I ever believe it’s true enough? Can I ever stop wanting the answers?

At Least, That’s Me

February 14, 2012 § Leave a comment

Vanity without confidence–How could I have liked myself? I have the confidence (some of it) back, and am not quite so ashamed of my vanity as I used to be. I feel good when I feel I look good. I’m not afraid of a mirror jumping out at me. Somewhere, someplace real or otherwise, my body is reserved for gods. Right now, that place is only in my mind. (I have to start somewhere.) Attraction starts with oneself. It’s only narcissism if one doesn’t share it. Confidence is what I want, what I want to show. Confidence always shows. So does arrogance, but I hope I have essentially grown out of that. I don’t exactly think I’m hot, but I wouldn’t question an attraction to me. What, me choosy? Sometimes I laugh in the middle of my toilette thinking of the care I take to reach my higher standard of pulchritude. All I ask is that someone appreciates the results. At least, that’s me.

I Will Have to Become an Expert

January 27, 2012 § Leave a comment

Narcissism is allowed. It’s the easiest start to learning to love myself and get comfortable with me. I like all the same books and music, but I don’t always get me, though no one knows me better. I can be frustrated and angered, but I try to understand and to reserve judgment, though I don’t come from that position of infinite hope asserted to be vital to the endeavor. I care for me, though, and better than I ever used to. Pampering is less the guilty pleasure than the occasional necessity. Why ask it of someone else when I can give it to myself? I deserve it, and who knows it better? If anyone else could do it for me, I would have to show them how. Before that time comes, I will have to become an expert.

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