I often wonder if there resides in me
a knowing,
a me that knows
the other
duller
me.
I picture the smaller, smarter me
sitting on a chesterfield
at the centre of the big me
watching the bigness of me
on a big TV.
To get to the smaller me
I decide I have to peel away the secrets I keep
from myself
so today I started
owning up:
1. If I see a lone stuffed animal on a shelf
I feel badly for it.
2. I really, really like Wham.
3. I do things for the story
more than the experience
more often
than I like.
Then I got hungry for lunch
and the small me
yawned
and I could almost hear her
fidget with the channel changer
and curse
the lack of racy programming on during the day.