I don’t have anything interesting about me. What do I tell people. Oh I have been on the price is right and I have two bars in my back. Both of these things were given to me. I haven’t had any type of oppression. I have always had food to eat, a school to attend, warm clothes, a bed, a shower, a family. Really anything I could ever need is at my finger tips in some regard. I have lived what, on paper, is a really easy life. I have had the classic mom problems and the classic self-confidence problems, the crushes, the feelings, the questions, the doubts, the ideas that plague every young adults mind. I am a good student but not a great student. I like to sing and act but I am not talented. I like sports but I don’t play any. I am a barista who hates coffee. I enjoy music but I don’t know music. Like to read but get bored, I explore but I get scared. I love to serve but I am disgusted. I want friends but won’t communicate. I am fat but not fat enough. I am ugly but not quite ugly enough.
My nose is too big, my face is too fat, my legs are fine but they don’t match my chunky torso, thus creating this awkward imbalanced disproportionate thing. I walk like a duck, pigeoned-toed and knocking knees. My hair is blonde and not. Some say strawberry blonde, but it is more like this weird mix between blonde and ginger but somehow not defined by any word I know of. My butt is good but then you put the most unfitting love handles on top and the whole thing goes to shit. My boobs are more like fat pockets that just fit nicely into a size d cup and my arms just kind of hanging there, hairy and mostly just a nuisance. I really like the color of my eyes. A medium tone of blue that lightens in the sun, however, they are often covered up by the dark, harsh mascara and eye liner I have come to adopt as a necessity not to be forgotten,punishable by humiliation and possibly death. My lips are small and peculiar in shape but what comes out from in between them is what often screws me over. I have a weird tick on the top of my nose that is like a little pocket of forgotten skin, an eternal zit that puts symmetry out of the question and provides nothing but an annoyance when putting on the mask that is makeup. After I paint my face, I pretty much look completely different. No one gets to see the person without the “face.” The only ones who do are the inevitables, the roommates and the family. You can also almost guarantee that I am going to be about as covered up as humanly possible, just short of a burka and/or hijab. Classic me right now is hair half way back, black pants, black shoes, some darkly colored shirt, with a jacket or scarf or both. Often times I am covered up to hide the fact that I am too lazy to shave my legs and arm pits, but it also to cover up and mask the engulfing muffin top I have acquired and to create the curves I know I will never have.
I eat a little too much, drink a little too much, laugh a little too much, try a little too much. I cry not enough, I let the guard down rarely and then all at once. I have pretty much no close friends, or family. I am political and opinionated but not really. I am determined but lazy, passionate but introverted, strong-willed but cowardly. I think too much and then not enough at all. I think I know how to handle things and then I am a complete shit show. I crave attention but crack when the spotlight hits my face. I am creative, artsy but boring and in bad taste. I try but I fail. I am both what I wish to be and what I fear to be. I am basket case. A basket of contradictions coming together in this manufactured 5’8 body.
I laugh and smile. I dumb myself down and I heft myself up. I adapt. I want to be alone, and crave human interaction. I am lost.
Where does this leave me. I may have a seat at the table but I am no star of the show. I may make some jokes and get a laugh but I am no maid of honor or god parent. I can watch your kids for a night or two, but I will not be your vote for president. I am enough. I check the boxes. Slightly below average perhaps but still passing. The fifth wheel on the wagon, not needed but sometimes nice to have in case something happens. I get pissed and annoyed easily and even easier if we live together. I want to be loved but am scared to show love myself. So at the end of it, where does that leave me? Well, everything cancels out. So that leave nothing. Maybe a wisp of something, easily blown by the wind and affected by those more developed beings around me, but not much. I flow, and adopt to the change around me. I absorb but do not contribute, at least not anything of value. And if it is anything of value, don’t be fooled because it is fake. Probably a flat-out lie made up by yours truly in order to fit in and continue the conversation because heaven forbid there be a lapse in the conversation. Awkward silence is not acceptable, it pains me. Silence hurts. Loneliness hurts. I am lonely.