March 17, 2011 – Not Just Me, But Me

Clearly defining who I “am” (yes, imagine me make air-quotes for emphasis) may be what my ego pretends to be doing in this race around the universe inside my head, but it consistently tosses Molotov bottle-rockets disguised as things I “am not” (more air-quotes) into my survivor’s back-pack.

Such as:

I am not currently capable of sustained attention spans of longer than a few minutes.

I am not looking forward to the Arthur remake. (Sorry – just saw the commercial. See? Already proving first point.)

I am not to be trusted to not tell you the right way to do something.

I am not worry-free. Not. Ever.

I am not able to answer “yes” or “no” questions with a single word.

I am not a good listener. My ears are not ever free of a high frequency sound wave apocalypse and my mind does not like to sit around its own or anyone else’s neighborhood too long.

I am not able to get where I am going without having a mad, hurried dash at the end.

I am not nearly as trusting and forthright as I would have you think I am. But I am not going to tell you that.

I am not someone who gives up easily unless faced with certain, disruptive conflict creating what is not comfortable for me. Or a hang-nail – whichever comes first.

I am not a fan of the back-stab, overly-arrogant-superior-attitude-poorly-faked-to-hide-a-crumbling-attempt-at-knowing-what-the-hell-is-going-on persona, or the comb-over.

I am not patient when it comes to driving, grocery shopping or anything that has to do with the betterment of my body, mind or soul.

I am not able to eat just one Lays potato chip.

I am not finished grieving the loss of anyone I have loved. Any. One.

I am not a fashionista.

I am not watching, now or ever, American Idol, The Bachelor or The Bachelorette. There. I’ve said it.

I am not book-smart nor am I able to learn how to do anything by only reading about it.

I am not enjoying the transition from reproductive vessel to wise crone.

I am not letting go of much of anything without leaving a mark that may or may not sting upon contact with saltwater.

I am not afraid of God. Yours or Mine. Anymore.

I am not so many more innumerable things stuffed into the hidden pockets of ego-maniacal gray matter.

I am also not going to allow what my ego thinks I should not be complete my definition of me.

I am, after all, me.


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