Today will be challenging for me.
I’m due to have visitors over to my humble abode, and I haven’t quite brought myself to the point of scurrying around to tidy everything. I don’t know why I feel the need to make such a fuss over guests. Perhaps it’s just a social imperative indelibly beaten into my childhood psyche that makes me almost physically incapable of having things domestically out of order. It’s odd though — I have no qualms whatsoever about living alone in my own nest of eccentric clutter, but heaven forbid anyone else comes along to evaluate it.
I always wonder what it is in particular I feel the need to hide. Honestly, it’s not any one thing; instead I suppose it’s the conclusion that could be drawn from the many things scattered about the house. Perhaps I’m just projecting my own paranoia, but I think it’s more than that. I vaguely obsess over people drawing the wrong conclusions from my collection of dysfunctional objects. It’s the wrongness that bothers me. And the effort it would take to straighten out everybody’s misconceptions. Yeah, the effort. It seems so tiresome.
Today’s picture is a shot I snapped in Golden Gate Park a while back of some crows. I found the expression pretty appropriate for how I feel about interacting with others. The crow dialogue seems to catch it all perfectly; the public being the fluffed up fellow with something to say, and I’m the other guy staring blankly back, thinking ‘What the hell?’
Enough. If I don’t start hiding bodies…er…cleaning the house, all of my eccentric secrets will be laid bare!
