I’m sitting in a coffee shop in the Maragny, just around the corner from the French Quarter- I’ve been avoiding that place all day. I hope my food comes soon. This is why I hate streams of consciousness—I’m reminded of how undelightfully boring I am. To hope my food comes soon. But also reminded of how instinctually human I am. Fuck interesting thoughts I just want sustenance. Everyone seems to love to remind me of how boring, or alternatively, how weird I am. If people’s opinions were the sole medium of a person’s identity, I don’t believe I would even exist. I am too many things to too many people, and only ever a prop of a person to the pantomime of their lives…then again so are they to mine. How do we start to look at each person on the street as a soul? We surround ourselves with layers of papers that only we need root through for a second to grasp at the most appropriate resume of a person. It’s hard to move on from that. We tell ourselves that if we attempted to write a fresh one for everyone, we’d explode. No one has such an intellectual capacity and most people like to stick to those resumes you’ve picked for them anyways. Foooooood.
***haha and here is apparently when I stuff my face for a while***