so...

finally.

you know what to do.

vignette.

"take care of her," she says.

"of course; that's my job now," he replies. he squeezes her hand.

oh, really.

i'm a little surprised by how angry i am over this. when really, it doesn't matter.
at the end of the day, you like the product, or you don't. everything else is just so much static.

anyway, i'm afraid it's really not your call.

and yet.

how meta.

who, indeed.

be yourself, he says. just be yourself, as though myself is something i can even identify these days, that even exists. i've become a fraying pastiche, a walking catastrophe of neuroses and thrills, of half-interests and exhaustion that i don't even recognize anymore. i shimmer and quiver so much around the edges that i can't even be seen when looked at directly. i'm a goddamn mirage.

and this is not a good thing.

stop trying to be the person that you think whoever you're with is going to like, he says. just be yourself. people are going to like the person that you really are. i am going to like the person that you really are.

this is all well and good, except for the fact that i have no clue who that is anymore. am i strong? am i brave? am i more than the youngest member of a long line of alcoholics? am i more than the sum of my job or my talents?

when i say i'm a photographer, a designer, a musician, a fighter, a comic book character; that i'm stubborn and sensitive and lonely...that i love bourbon and sex and mint malted milk balls and violin-infused punk rock, does that snap me into focus? does it mean anything at all?

or do i need to tell you that i am terrified most of the time? or that i'm exhausted always being the grownup, and that i drink because it's the only thing that softens the edges of the shadows that worry me every night? that i see myself holding you all at arm's length, and feel powerless to pull you closer? and that i have no idea why?

am i kind? am i a good friend? do i linger in your mind when i've left the room? am i interesting or thought-provoking? do i make you laugh?

i know this much: i am loyal and loving, i am impetuous at times. i will drive across state lines to bail your ass out of jail, and i will overanalyze every email you ever send me, and every conversation we ever have. i will always be tired. i will always pull it together to be a great party guest, no matter how much i'd prefer to simply sit in the corner and watch. i am smarter than your average bear, though my nonexistent attention span means i frequently come off as entirely ignorant. i am nowhere near as glib or badass as i like to present myself, and i don't know why i can't seem to stop folding myself into shapes designed to be easier for other people to carry.

this whole thing is fraught with so much irony i don't think i can even express it.

how do you forget these things, honestly? how do you forget who you are?

my god, i would be unapologetically myself if i had any idea who that was anymore.