My life without me...

Have you ever stopped and thought about yourself? I don't mean, like, "I want the biggest piece of pie," or "How does this effect me?" I mean, have you ever just stepped outside of yourself and thought about the shell, the core, all the little bits that make you up?

Every once in a while, I'll get an almost out-of-body experience and just stare at myself and my actions, reactions, words. I try to categorize what's happening, how I'm effecting the people with whom I interact, what category I fit into in this person's life.

Thursday, for instance. There I am, meeting with the general manager of the temp agency, and she asks me "If I were to ask the people at your last job about you, what would be three words they would use to describe you?"

Well, really, what words would they choose, indeed?

I know how I'd describe myself: A little jaded and a little naive. A lot smart and sometimes a lot more stupid. Pushy and passive. I adore wit and wits, the actions and the people, and sometimes I despair of both. And I love cats and baked goods.

I know that other people think I'm bossy. I think I'm firm. If I'm teaching or explaining something to someone and I know what I'm doing, I will lay down the line. Sometimes this is admirable. Sometimes, I'm sure, this is really annoying and sanctimonious. Beauty isn't the only thing in the eye of the beholder.

If I don't know what I'm doing or trying to explain, I'll back off. I avoid every possible instance of looking the fool. But I don't avoid foolishness.

Cosmo just mentioned to me that Mathew Perry will be producing and starring in an episode of Scrubs. This excites me. "That's awesome," I said. "I hope he falls down." And it struck me. People tell me I'm smart, but I know the truth: All too often my dumb side, my evil twin if you will, comes out for a visit.

I know that all of us are at least a little insecure. Sometimes I wonder how much of that which makes it possible for us to function in society, outside our homes, is based in insecurity.

Maybe we don't go outside naked because all of us have some flaw, saddle bag thighs, dimples in our bottoms, moles or hair where they shouldn't be. Maybe we don't cross the road on the red because we're afraid of what other people, the police, doctors, our mothers, will say. We get jobs so we can keep up with our friends - Apartments, movie outings, dinner - All lead to socializing and acceptance and each require money.

We make, keep or discard friends based on what others say. If your best friend hates your boyfriend, you tend to get rid of or back away from one or the other. If your mother thinks you're running with a tough crowd, you get even tougher.

We wear what we're told, cut our hair like everyone else. Everyone wants to fit in, and do any of us know what we're supposed to be fitting into? That size six dress costs the same in eight, ten and twelve, but the bulges are hidden much better. Conversly, some of us are so afraid of sticking out that we go to the other extremes: I'm not a conformist, dig my purple hair (bought from the drugstore) and my piercings (yours for only $70) and my crazy clothes (mix and match from various boutiques). I'm so original (just like everyone else).

Do we ever think about all the things we squeeze, push, pull or pluck out of our bodies? What have we ever given our bodies that we feel it's alright to yank things out of them? Or shove things into them? Is your body really your body? Is your life really even yours? Is all of this just on loan?

I can't help feeling like I'm being extra fragile lately. I feel like this job is probably a dead end deal, like I'm walking into something that'll only blow up in my face. I'm feeling like I've lost my best friend, but I don't know for sure and I don't know why. Then again, maybe "fragile" is one of the words people would use to describe me.