And the rest of the world to consider.

It’s not the worst thing, but certainly not the greatest, when I try to imagine myself through the eyes of some rejecting entity. I (or something I produced) was too… what? I am not enough… what?

Note to self - no one has x-Ray vision. Or maybe I just didn’t fit The Needed Role. Or I was an Extra Hanging Thread - something excess, pathetic, desperate, or lacking, or rotten, or whatever the fuck. Some aftertaste of a piece of me they grabbed onto made them not want a second helping.

I am different things to different people (duh). This is life. Everyone’s life. I too am a list of roles. A hell of a lot of roles, darlings. There’s a lot of role playing and play acting in any life, whether we want to admit that to ourselves or not. Daughter, sister, friend, cousin, employee. I won’t be all of these things forever. But I digress. I can’t nail every role all the time.

Also - I’m thinking of, and I don’t mean this in a cruel way, I promise - Simple women. Not “stupid”, but simple ones. Not too much depth, very ordinary and easy to digest. Pretty/cute, but not too much of anything, really. I call them Shops at Legacy women because I feel like all of the women I see there look the same. Hell, sometimes I wish I looked like them (although other times I’m happy to be invisible). I wish I could be bothered to be cute. Or care. I’m not putting them down. I don’t think I’m better than them because I am not, or do not see myself as, “simple”. I think they are much better off.

In my writing class earlier this year, when we turned in our first assignments - a woman in the class who happened to be a professor read a piece of something I wrote and she said “I just read through it and thought: Who is this mind?” (She was complimentary of my piece, luckily, which is why I even bring it up, duh.)

Her guess is as good as mine. Maybe better, honestly. I am not for everyone. There is something about me that is different. I don’t see the same world. I see more, but sometimes less. I don’t count the stars the same way, can’t find the Milky Way. I’m right in the wrong ways sometimes. And just the regular kind of wrong too, of course.

I can’t be bothered by those people who can’t see, or by those colorful paper airplanes I sent out that didn’t land in the right place. I will continue on in my own weird, loving, open hearted way. I meant well or tried, and that is my peace. That is my answer. That is the answer to all rejection.

Because there is still the rest of the world to consider.