On Valentine's Day, I was at brunch sitting in a booth across from J at a diner. About an hour into our hang out, a person walked in who was a doppelganger of you. Of course. A vaguely military green sweater, stylized camouflage pants, ears sticking out a bit and pierced with small piercing hoops of sorts (the type one associates with the 90s). They sat so they were facing me. Across from them looked to be their father (they looked alike; he was significantly older) but you never know these days.
For the rest of the time I was there, I looked past J and at them. It was so odd to see you sitting there. Every part of me had the inclination to pass them my number, but I had no idea why.
Lately, I have been reading Donald Kalsched's work (The Inner World of Trauma in its Diabolical Form) and feeling the sci-fi-ness of it. It makes me think of each season's "Big Bad" from Buffy the Vampire Slayer mixed with the familiar demon-and-angel imagery I grew up with. I've also been reading The Labyrinth: An Existential Odyssey, a graphic novel that - ironically because of all the shit I've talked about him- centers around a particular work of Sartre's. To say I'm reading it more because of the creativity of its cover and the cuteness of the cartoon mouse who stars in it would just come across as defensive. I am grateful for my library hauls and stolen academic library access so much these days.
Last night I was asked to describe what kind of "weird" I am and I did not have an answer. I have heard people describe me with this word the majority of my life. It does not resonate with me. I suppose there is some hilarity to be found within that fact.
be well; be loved,
k.
(image: From Sadviolences Tumblr)
(title from Maroon)
