I’ve been feeling a little lost of late. Unsure of who “I” am, of where stand in the world, of where I’m supposed to go. Husband has kindly stated that I’m in an intermission, waiting for my next act to start. It’s soothing statement in a way but not entirely helpful. I usually know where to go. I usually know what to do after an intermission. Here, I have no clue. And, since I have no clue, I have no solution. And since I have no solution, I’m spiraling.
Which is why today I am wearing an orange shirt. You see, at one point in my life, you could tell who I was by how I dressed. My ego, my confidence, my self was in my style. If I were having a day where things were fuzzy and dark, my clothing would settle me, define me. Not that I’m a clothes person, just that what I had, what I wore was like a uniform. When I put them on, there I was. These days, I’m apparently old t-shirts and ill-fitting jeans. I’m confused and lazy and blah. Hence the bright orange shirt. Now, I hate shopping and I am totally not fond of the body I currently have but desperate times call for desperate measures. And apparently desperate measures means shopping for hours, trying on clothes I would never look at before and having absolutely lovely and necessary therapy day with my friend. For the first time, I understand why women shop. And somehow, an orange shirt became the answer to the question of who “I” am. Is it the answer? I don’t know. The orange is absolutely f-ing terrifying. But I’m wearing the damn shirt anyway. Let us see if that changes my story. And how.
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AuthorMy name is ej. I'm a girl. I say that because with the short hair and the short initials, folks aren't always sure. More brilliant insights to who I am in About me Archives
April 2019
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