Autodidact: self-taught



by V. L. Craven

Kissing Jessica Stein : Jessica’s Rant
In what ways? We don’t click in any ways. We don’t have chemistry or banter. Or common interests. You’re a yoga instructor, you get colonics. You don’t appreciate the chaos and absurdity of life on this planet and in this city. You don’t understand irony or ethnicity or eccentricity or poetry or the simple joy of being a regular at the diner on your block; I love that. You don’t drink coffee or alcohol. You don’t over-eat you don’t cry when you’re alone. You don’t understand sarcasm. You plod through life in a neat, colourless, caffeine-free, dairy-free, conflict free, banal self-possessed way. I’m bold and angry and tortured and tremendous and I notice when someone has changed their hair part or when someone is wearing two very distinctly different shades of black. Or when someone changes the natural tambour of their voice on the phone. I don’t give out empty praise. I’m not complacent or well-adjusted. I can’t spend fifty minutes breathing and stretching and getting in touch with myself. I can’t spend three minutes finishing an article. I check my phone machine nine times everyday. And I can’t sleep at night because I feel that there is so much to do and fix and change in the world and I wonder every day if I’m making a difference. And if I will ever express the greatness within me or if I will remain forever paralyzed by the muddled madness inside my head. I have wept on every birthday I’ve ever had because life is huge and fleeting. And I hate certain people in certain shoes. And I feel that life is terribly unfair and sometimes beautiful and wonderful and extraordinary but also numbing and horrifying and insurmountable. And I hate myself a lot of the time, but a lot of the rest of the time I adore myself. And I adore my life in this city. And in this world that we live in. This huge and wondrous, bewildering, brilliant, horrible world. In these ways I feel that we do not click.

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