Fair Is Fair

One minute I’m crying about something truly sad in my life and the next minute I’m realizing I’m extraordinarily blessed in another way. One minute I’m thinking about my weeks spent on my great grandparent’s farm making mud pies in the field and the next second it hits me. I was there to take a few weeks away from living in an apartment with my parents. …If they even were my biological parents. …And yet it was thousands and thousands of acres of private land with lakes underneath and the apartment was in a wealthy suburb.

…But I still did make mud pies. In old aluminum pie tins. I really did. Alone. Depressed. Wishing I could grow-up and never have to pretend to enjoy making mud pies ever again. I was five or six then.

…You’re not me. I’m not you. No. No dear. You’re…you. And you’re stuck that way. *smile* But it’s not a competition. And the sooner you wake up to that the better off you’ll be.

“Why do you love me?” a ghost says, in self-despair. And yet I wonder why he’d ever love me.

But that’s the thing. We’re all stuck being ourselves. Constantly. And we can lie about it, but it’s just a lie.

Who…are…you? Really.

I don’t care what anyone says. I don’t care how stupid it sounds to some people. They just don’t get it. That’s all. Really. And what is it? It’s this: We are all utterly fascinating.

All of us.

You are you. I am me. I am me. You are you.

Who are you? Who are you? Who are you?