The hateful little marionette

Question:

What is there to LOVE and lose myself in other than writing, which is ultimately an extension of myself and my interpretations - my sometimes

narcissistic, self absorbed, incomplete absorption of the world?

Answer -

So here’s what I ultimately DIDN’T want the answer to be: People (collectively) or “ a person.”

Alternatives: The city lights. Coffee. Books. Infinite, intangible lovely things. The skyline at night.

But none of those things have souls, as much as I’d like to imagine they do. And I can only pluck out so much raw material out of my own and examine those sparkly guts under a blurry, compromised microscope.

What do I see? I sometimes see a loving, kind, supportive friend. A hard worker. A woman who loses control of her giggles at unfortunate times. Other times I see a woman lost in fantasy - “what if I did, what if he had, what if I said…” - that is where bitterness grows, resentment and anger take over, and she waltzes around like a hateful little marionette.

Over nothing.

Vitamins for thought.