How and why I give the wrong impression to complete strangers.

I actually wrote this the first week of June [on the same day it happened, in fact] I'm not sure why it didn't make it to this blog. Probably just with all the shuffling and such it got moved off and never got back on. Anyway, I think the sequence of events is just a good demonstration of why people can be difficult to interpret.


I went to the library today.
Afterward, I walked up the street for along time. It seemed like hours.
Just as I was about to turn into the Staples, a guy said:

"I like your bag"

The bag on my back is clearly marketed for 10 year old girls. It's a bright pink and white, with little cartoons on it. Drawings of completely inaccurate Earths, rainbows with no indigo in them, poorly constructed figures with no hands and ridiculous grins.

"Hey, I've seen you walking, you are everywhere. I see you walking around downtown all the time"
"That's interesting. I'm almost never downtown"
"Really? Well, hey you want to go-"
I turned into Staples.

As I start back to the green line, I realize I have that thing with my walk going on. I have a little more "fuck you" in my step.
I can feel it, without looking at myself.

I'm seated into my hips but somehow my pelvis is almost tipped a little forward. My shoulders have this uncommon inward angle, this beautiful awkward thing going on. My arms are either lankily swinging to my sides or angled out, with my hands stuffed in my side pockets.

My steps start with my knees and shins, not my feet- it must look like I'm on the hunt for something. If I weighed half as much, you could freeze my steps- I might look like I was modeling couture... that elegant and grotesque way they pose- the way one is supposed to model clothing that no one can afford or sit down in.

I reach the T;  I'm afraid to look at anyone.

If I make contact, I might try to engage with someone in a completely inappropriate manner. They might see in my eyes that I currently, even if only for a short time, have just absolutely no fucks to give.
As I move, everything feels choreographed.

Smooth and controlled.
I am afraid I'll hear music that might make me so happy I'll laugh. I'll look like the crazy person I am.

Though really, only a couple people can make me feel that way.

So instead I scowl and look at the tracks, waiting and trying to ignore all the humanity around me.

No wonder people think I'm a bitch.

I catch sight of someone's foot and remember: I walked over a grate in the sidewalk twice as long as I am tall.

I don't usually do that. I'm usually worried it will snap and I'll fall, lacerating my legs on the way down.

Why did I do it today? Am I getting less and less intimidated by life?
...or it could be I am taking less rational action, therefore the possibility of slicing through my legs and falling into a sewer no longer phases me.

I can't tell if this is the crazy. No one else can either.
By appearance, I'm just a frigid bitch, waiting for the red line now.

I stare at the tracks and think about the third rail...
I've always wanted to walk on it.

For no reason.

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