Friday, July 20, 2012

#77--Just Another Girl

I'm just another girl. I've got the same dreams as anybody. I only think my ideas are original.

Before I go any farther, I should just go ahead and say this might seem like a downer post, but really it isn't. Bear with me.

As I was saying--

I'm just another girl. Except I'm not girly and I'm not a tomboy. I'm feminine and not. I'm eccentric and sultry and spiny and brash and nurturing all at the same time. Do I know who I am? Sometimes. I have the same dreams and goals as anyone else. So why should I be held apart from the crowd? How do you gain and maintain your individuality when there are so many other people just like you? What makes me more deserving than anyone else? What is the value of a person?

You don't know me. And you will probably never take the time. I'll be just another gravestone in another cemetery. Someday someone will walk past my head stone and say "She must have been a real person once. She must have mattered to someone. I wonder what she looked like?" Then they'll wander on and visit the grave they came for, or break up the vault they meant to, or upright all the fallen-over flower holders. And then they'll go home to their families or their dog.

What is the point of this post you might ask? I don't know. Do you? If you have any insight, please enlighten me.

I've got dreams. I've got goals. I've got secrets and confessions and favorites and dislikes and passions and star fire and you and I don't even know what else. I've got a house that I can call home and a two-dog family and I've got these things and you've got your things. I've got my memories, which will only ever be my memories and no one else's, for we all experience things differently. I've got all this unique and individualness that cannot be remade or copied or undone by anyone. How can I express that to you? You are just as individual as me, and in that we are the same. Little copies of each other for millenia and having sprouted from the loins of some water-turned-land-crawling-monkey-fish-ameoba.

Some might say that all anyone wants is to be famous. If we were all famous, no one would care. If they did, they'd care enough to be different. They'd be infamous; thus starting the cycle of difference and un-noticeability all over again. Here I am making up words. What did you do today? Yes that's a challenge.

I don't know that fame is what I want. I think I want to be noticed. Especially during the summer when one can't find a job and is at home a lot of the time and no one talks to you but your dog when they want to go pee and that's not a real conversation anyway because it isn't even the same language and doesn't hold the same conceptual structures either. Attention. So, that must be what I'm wanting now. As ever. But what is wrong with that? Doesn't everyone want to be acknowledged? Even folks that claim to be afraid of people or who are anti-social or worse, all they want is to be acknowledged, to have friends, to communicate and feel like their ideas are worth something; to feel like they are worth something to someone, even if only for a moment or twenty.

Are my ideas good ones? Are they worth sharing? Are they worth hearing? Hm?

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