Sunday, January 11, 2009

So, the other day I found out that an old acquaintance was reading my blog. OK, fine... But it wasn't. This person is fine. The problem is that I am not. They say that you like a person to the degree they make you like yourself. And so I hate her, because I hate myself around her. This happens sometimes. People I dislike from long ago, when I really think about it, I don't actually dislike. I dislike the memories of myself that I associate with that person. You know the feeling you have when you tuck your skirt into your nylons on accident and when you realize that everyone in the room is looking at your bum in your giant granny panties, you just want to disappear. You know that feeling? Right at that instance that you realize why everyone is looking at you and laughing...that sinking awful, sweaty, throw-up-in-your-mouth feeling? Well, that is the feeling I get every time I think back on myself around this person. I was awful. I was young. I was immature. And I acted in ways that I am ashamed of. And so my first instinct is to jazz up my blog; photoshop a picture of myself and paste it at the top so she will think that I look really beautiful, and fun oh AND happy, DEFINITELY no longer lame...Hurry and delete all the embarrassing posts that show my weaknesses-in all their glory.

BUT, As tempting as it portray the image of perfection, it's not my reality. My reality is messy, and unshowered, and complicated. Some days I look cute, heck- some days I even act cute. But that is just one piece of the mosaic that is my life. And so I when I think about it, I need to welcome her. I want to like her, because I want to like myself. And so to her, and any others whom I hated, loathed, or mistreated in the past, to you I say,
"Welcome, and I am sorry",
because in this case:
it really wasn't you, it was me.

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