I want to tell you things. There's this wealth of mundane improvement that I can shower upon you now. I'm a better cook and (hopefully) better dressed. I lost a little weight. But all of that is irrelevant.
Oh my how supportive Chris can be. If only I could motivate myself to do something actual with my life. If only I had any sort of ambition beyond paying my bills.
Strange things have happened to my identity when I decided to stop doing theatre for awhile. I am a nanny, but I don't identify myself that way. I'm broke, so I don't seek my identity in objects or clothing. I tend to seek it in relationships. I suppose that's why old shadows are still on my mind on occasion. If I can prove myself over and over and over again to someone whose approval I'll never feel like I have, then perhaps I'll pursue that approval forever. Maybe I'll even be momentarily happen in proving myself. Mostly, it makes me feel beholden. How could this person I so admire stoop to deal with me and my endless array of personal shit? Because I make it worth their while.
So now I have to track down my identity and recreate it. This time as something else again. What shall I be?
