I reconsidered posting that awkward observation I made at work. I will write to K about it instead. I like to think it amuses her when I describe these situations that feed my one real paranoia.

Curious, that it never occured to me before that I could be incorrectly describing myself as paranoid. I wasn’t. Paranoid is the correct word. Not that I want to be thought of as paranoid, because generally I’m not…just about this one thing.

All this work has driven all the words right out of my head. I don’t have anything at all to say…unless I start in about this paranoia, but part of why I choose not to do that is because I never know when to stop the words when I find them, and saying the first word might start a string of them and send me back through ten years of words said to cover up the words that were what I really had in mind.

It’s where all the poems come from. All of them. And the Wolf’s yellow-grey eyes.

It’s like…if I had to choose one thing that was the catalyst for all the words and thoughts and little bits of personality making up the thing that is now Reeser, and that was the lense through which I viewed every thing that happened after, it would be that one. This thing that happened to me is me, in a way, and it’s funny because it didn’t stop happening, and so I haven’t stopped becoming this…whatever I am.

I wonder a lot if there are other people who are like me in this way.
I mean, I know there are. It’s something I observe about a lot of people whose blogs I read. They are all something they haven’t figured out how to stop being. It’s reassuring in a way.

I often feel like the people who claim not to be like this are not being completely honest.