Day 38.

The second thing i wrote here.
Fucking, the only thing we had to go on was "present yourself to an audience." WAAAAAT. helpz?

I wear this one shirt a lot: Teal, with a picture of Wonder Woman. Her curves erupt from spandex. Her fists are unquenchable in their thirst for righteousness. I know nothing about her. Not her stories-- my mom bought the shirt-- not even why I like it. I am glad she is a mystery.
It makes it easier to mythologize her. Make no mistake, i know the consequences. People crush under the weight of idealistic expectations; they run away or let their dreams be corrupted.
So don't do it. Not to me, not to yourself.
I'll start this way-- I'm a rambler. Tangential. Continually wading in the stream of consciousness, which may or may not resemble the Merced River, which either cuts or joins the two halves of Yosemite Valley, I can't decide. Both.
Who I am is steeped in its snowmelt water, which makes a sound as it runs over rocks, leaping around bends: it sounds like this. Be wild.
Maybe I'm Wonder Woman's cousin-- Ponder Woman? Self-consciously contemplating the smallest observations, immersed in her bubble world of narcissism, she *would* fight action except that would involve actual, well, action. She would fight with a shield made of terrible jokes. Sometimes she would think the shield allows her to deal and sometimes she thinks the perfect opposite.
Ponder Woman deals in absurdities, trades in technicalities, in the business of isolation.
Okay, so I'm no superhero.
For one thing, i have no nemesis, and where is a superhero without a nemesis?
Out of business.
I am a composition of cells, the strange coincidence of a universe where things fall apart like gravity pulls on all sides, not just one. And every day my cells stick it out is a vast cosmic improbability.
It's true, but it's not fact.