This building continues to be demolished; whittled down and exposed in ways I'm sure that, if it had feelings, would make it feel very violated. Poor building, on its way out, pillaged and raped for parts...or maybe no parts, maybe the parts just fall with the cement, brick and stair wells? Hmm. What's my point? I'm not sure that I have one.I'd like to tear myself down a little, get back down to the bare bones and build myself back up. Get an architect to point out my best assets and teach me how to color coordinate in order to show these things off. Increase my capacity for creating things and getting them out into the world. Decrease my penchant for watching movies and reading in bed. Somehow enhance my ability to charm the socks off strangers while stripping away my tendency for silent judgment, self-effacement and mediocre and middling malaise. What else? I'd like to broaden my cooking horizons so that the best things I cook are not so exclusively in the stew family. This last one, I think, is not as much a matter of refurbishing my identity, as much as taking a cooking class.
I wonder what my crown molding is, and whether my figurative wood floors have been painted over so many times that to find the actual grain of wood would necessitate a sand blaster. Authenticity as a concept has not been overly interesting to me, and yet here I am thinking that if all my windows and doors and walls were blown away I would somehow find some core self off of which I could recreate a better version of me. Hm. This is awful. This building/personality analogy is silly, but effective. I wouldn't mind a building/body analogy either. When I look in the mirror I think I see the face I want to see, a face that may not have ever existed...or if it did, it did mainly in photographs I took of myself years ago.
This is awful.
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