My apartment is so dark some mornings, and this one is no exception. Maybe what they said about me in grade school all those years was true, each time my peers referred to me as dark and I had to clarify and tell them I was just philosophical and analytical when it came to emotions, and they replied yeah, dark.
Dark was the first thing I noticed this morning when the sun hid behind some clouds.
Then again, how could I be a dark lord, when I spend most of my work days empowering disabled middle schoolers and teaching them how to turn hopeless feeling situations into hopeful ones by simply changing one’s perspective on failure, disability and obstacle?
Is it a nice sounding cover story I hide behind to keep from scaring others with just how vulnerable, chaotic and relative I enjoy being? Maybe a little bit.
But aren’t we all just a little bit of everything we think we’re not, given the funhouse of projection?
It’s how I know what I really want is to surround myself in a vortex of confusion and melancholy, ride it up into the so-called more certain, lighter and happy world, and then touch down on each sad and dispirited shoulder like a dying butterfly.