individualism

I am special, unique. I am me. I will rock the world with my talent. You’ve never seen anyone like me, baby. I will follow my dreams, reach for the stars, climb the ladder of success rung by rung by fucking rung. I have to search. I want to run. I want to find a cave and crawl in and find a tribe sitting there, waiting. I am someone worthy of finding. I will make great things for myself. I will be grateful to those who came before me and paved the way. I will feel shame and horror about the state of the world. I will pull up my bootstraps and absorb all the information and make something useful out of myself. I will contribute to society. I will make the best of it. I will deaden slowly and feel hollower over the years but still be able to chatter lively as I pour a drink. I will fall asleep with with my hands on a full heart and trust in the inherent goodness of all things. I am special, I am unique. I take myself out to dinner and tip generously. I tip back my hot sake in splendor as my carefully placed ringlet sweeps gracefully across my cheek. I will be attractive, I will make conversation, I will share what’s going on with me. The people are hungry for each other. I wish I hadn’t learned the word “God.”