Master of my reality?

What in the shit bananas?!

Still, there’s a kind of comfort in quarantine. I mean, even after seeing how badly I can reek of mammal, there is freedom in being lifted from the weight of socializing. (I mean, I was smelling so bad in the depth of it,  that I thought I was stabling a pack of llamas in my lady parts.  And was I pleased with myself for having sunk into a stinky hole of depression; probably not, but still in the words of Mike Myers’ Fat Bastard, “everyone likes their own brand.”)  Once I clawed my way back to decent hygiene and accepted the forced isolation, I started to wonder, is it really that bad?

Having to wear a version of me that, although like-able for sure, maybe takes too much effort.  

Why is it sometimes so hard to be ourselves even more so out in the world than alone?  And when one is alone, why is it so hard to face that that might even be ok?  It maybe makes me an oddball to admit, but I certainly feel more lonely in company, palatable mask painted on, sometimes, then left to my own devices.  I find that I am overly critical in my review of any and all mundane interactions, even the internal conversations.  Did I say too much? Probably.  Was it raunchy and or inappropriate?  Likely.  Do I need to work on a filter for my overflowing thoughts? Definitely.  When alone, I am forced into a dialogue with myself that, although it puts a grimace on my non-poker face, is somewhat welcome.  (I can feel a psychologist grinning greedily in their mind’s eye over the prospect of a crazy person breakthrough!)  Yes. As embarrassingly dumb as it is, the pandemic has afforded me the opportunity for some self reflection separate from interruptions of forced social interaction.  The irony of it is comical: forced isolation from necessary socialization. HA!

So…

The question of whether or not I’m master of my own reality has a transient answer.  Maybe. Sometimes. Can I choose to pull myself out of a stink hole of body odor? Certainly.  Do I perpetuate a fantasy perspective of myself that I’m on the cusp of being some cool underground cultural icon, like Kevin Smith? Shrug but like totally.  Can I force myself not to reach out to the proverbial him? Sometimes.  Can I stop feeling like I want to? Not sure. Should I continue to interact with people so as to not become a hermit? Probably.   Is the phrase “new normal” stupid? Absolutely, although it does negate its existence or necessity.

Not sure anyone knows what dafuq (which is an argot I seem to be awkwardly and excessively using in this particular thought process) and maybe I’m a little naive, but I vibe with it all being okay...now...maybe eventually.  As the Buddha teaches, stay present and as an aside...keep up the hygiene.

************************************************************************************

Lyrics in drawing taken from “Hand in Pocket” written and performed by Alanis Morissette

Special thanks to Super Dad Osborne for being my non-judgmental editor