rereading what i wrote yesterday. it sounds a little false, a little defensive. less heartfelt. now that the blog is up, the inner censors are raising their voices. whenever i feel eyes and ears on me, i lose my own senses. all i hear is what people might think, how i might be heard. i am quite good at conversing when i know what my interlocutor needs, but when the topic is me, i panic. like i’m losing my threads of thought. grandstanding. justifying. nothing to align to. nothing to tether myself.

one of the popular instagramers posted a pretty photo to say she was feeling sad. a number of comments came in admiring the photo, complete with hearts and thumbs-up emoticons, heaping compliments and cheer. i hate that feeling… that one could say something that should stop people in their tracks, but people go on like nothing unusual has occurred.

one could scream agony in a crowd, and people would endeavor to keep on moving, to not stare, to pretend. this is apparently the polite thing, the safe thing to do. if the kerfuffle comes in a pretty package, then we are that much more blind to the pain. how do we become so desensitized? why do we dehumanize the living, breathing being standing next to us? we tread our well worn ruts, trade our hearts for habits. do we have to choose between efficiency and love, tidiness and humanity? is it necessary to be so guarded?

why do we institutionalize frigidness in the form of politeness? being polite means not seeing them hurt their child. being polite means don’t tell the truth. being polite means sliding quietly into our own turmoil and watching others do the same. when did personal space become the most valued of qualities?

it’s so easy to want to be like Granny Weatherwax. all that power. knowing what to do when it needs to be done. knowing what should come to be, and having the means to make it happen. and headology! seems enough on this side of supernatural to be possible. i have this longing to be superhuman, like being human is some awful weakness.

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