The Best Policy?

I am a huge mystery to myself. Not one of those cute little puzzles you pick up at the toy store either. I often feel like a frustrated convoluted maze, its hedges overgrown and its pathways lost in shadow.

Honesty, now that’s an interesting concept. How can you be honest when you don’t know where the truth lies? Sometimes I feel every aspect of me is deceitful, even those I present to my self. Honesty, who looks into themselves and sees the humanity within? And I’m not talking about the sweet giving humanitarian side. Humanity, the dark ugly messy kind, the steaming pile of entrails kind. The pettiness, the suspicion, the envy. I lay myself open and gingerly toe my psyche and think, ‘I am not a good person’. I don’t think I’m Evil, not the horns and forked tail mysterious super villain kind of evil, but I’m not good either. I’m incredibly, depressingly infinitesimal. I am an infinitely immeasurably small person. And that makes me sad.

In other news I’m back in school and rubbing shoulders with all those eager shiny faced peers I left behind a few months ago. It can grate on one’s nerves a bit. Also I just had a birthday which always makes things look particularly overcast.