(Familiarity Breeds Contempt)
I don’t plan to circle it, make
some little note in the margins
or come back to it tomorrow,
but in a world full of dislikes,
I appreciate this notion. Hey,
I’m talking to you! Do you even
know who I am? Yeah, there
are a few worlds filled with
possibilities here. The critic
doesn’t need to be happy that
the backseat is where they’ll
find their nameplate. But can
one ever be both unhappy and
content? Or realize that one’s
place in the world is by necessity
uncomfortable? Oh, at the very
least. On our middle of the night
video call in the wee hours of this
past Sunday, my mother goes on
about how she weighs less now
than she did when she became
pregnant with me, her firstborn.
A few days later I am able to sit
with what I think we might call
the reality of this statement, one
she has managed to bring up in
perhaps three of our last four
regular, mostly brief, near-midnight
conversations.
know who I am? Yeah, there
are a few worlds filled with
possibilities here. The critic
doesn’t need to be happy that
the backseat is where they’ll
find their nameplate. But can
one ever be both unhappy and
content? Or realize that one’s
place in the world is by necessity
uncomfortable? Oh, at the very
least. On our middle of the night
video call in the wee hours of this
past Sunday, my mother goes on
about how she weighs less now
than she did when she became
pregnant with me, her firstborn.
A few days later I am able to sit
with what I think we might call
the reality of this statement, one
she has managed to bring up in
perhaps three of our last four
regular, mostly brief, near-midnight
conversations.
