Deep Thoughts

Sometimes, when I glance in the mirror, I have existential moments. All right, I don't know if they're existential moments! And I'm pretty sure if I looked it up I wouldn't understand the explanation, so I ain't gonna!

Today at the gym I was doing the classic stand-and-hold-your-foot-behind-you-at-your-tush stretch in the privacy of the hallway to the women's locker room. The hallway is mirrored on one side. I checked myself out to make sure my knee was pointing straight down. Then I looked at my face. Perfectly happy with what I saw. A bit sweaty, no make-up, but I'm extremely fond of myself so I was pleased. But I'm not always sure that's how I picture myself. Do you ever look in the mirror real hard? Like if you look hard enough into your eyes you'll really truly see yourself? I wasn't standing close to the mirror, so I wasn't eye to eye. And I am NOT a deep thinker. But I'm looking at that chickie in the mirror and trying to connect the thoughts in my head to the face I'm looking at.

Maybe that's not in any way clear. That's why I don't teach philosophy. But I think I would like to expose you to some of my (dum da dum!) early poetry! And by early? I'm talkin' 11 years old, baby! I would never torture you with the DRECK I wrote in college.

Now here we have a selection from "10 Poems" by me, Language Arts, 2nd hour, Mrs. Resnick's class. I'm pretty dang sure that was 1981. It's typed on onion skin paper. Corrasable Bond.

Thought
Have you ever sat down and thought?
Thought about, if you were born to someone other you would not have been you.
The only thing real about you is your mind and your brain, the rest is just
an outer layer, a shell surrounding you.
You are just like anybody else except your mind and your brain . . .

I'm pretty sure these "deep thoughts" came from looking in the mirror just like this morning. I don't remember having angst during this early period of "thinking," just, hmm, wonderment?

Shall I torture you with another? I shall. Because three out of ten of these things are in this introspective vein and that fascinates me. And it's my blog.

Some of these poems have check marks next to them that the teacher made. This next one doesn't. I think that suggests she thought it was crap.

Birthdays
It's your birthday, is it really, or is it just a made up thought?
Are you really older, has a year really gone by, or is it just the
power of suggestion?
You may be older on the outside, but you're not on the inside.

Am I torturing you? Come on, don't you think these are vaguely impressive for an 11 year old? I'll have you know Iris Resnick gave me an A+!

One more and then I'll let you go.

Mind
What lies in our inner self?
Do we have love in our heart or hatred?
How do we hear?
How do we speak?
Is there someone inside us pulling our strings?
When our strings break, will we live on?

Now that is some heavy queer shit, huh? Don't worry, I believe I was generally a goofball most of my childhood. When MacDonald's introduced their QLT (Quarter pounder, Lettuce, and Tomato), my family started calling me that, insisting it stood for queer little tyke.

Maybe this isn't a good post to come back from vacation with. Maybe you'll never come back. Maybe you never came back anyway. Maybe I'm just whistling in the dark. Maybe I shouldn't think so hard.

xo

Jo