Meeting My Mirror Self

OK- I’m gonna talk to myself in the mirror.

Hello, this is me.
Why can I not look at myself?
Why can I not talk to to you?
Why do I feel like I’m being really mean?
Why am I just now noticing how crooked I talk?
OK, I’m gonna talk to you (in my teacher voice)
OK adele, I’m really gonna talk to you. This is weird. Because it’s dark? (stalling to type a while- from here out, I will only paraphrase. My typing is sucking life out of the moment- like photography often does “let’s facebook this one!”)
But no, I must document these strange sensations. Like the feeling that I’m existing in this void between me and the mirror. And that I can’t say I love you to myself. I can say it in my head and no one is in or near my cabin but me and my mirror self- but it is really hard to say it and I feel like when I finally do, something in me will change. And slowly I’m realizing that I’m not talking crooked at all, and that I seem like an OK person to talk to.

And where I thought talking to myself in the mirror would feel vain, it doesn’t at all. It transcends that It’s like meeting a new friend- but it’s me.

Maybe we should just do this all day
…(but does she want to do this all day, and what would we do? Insecurities setting in)
(I’m noticing how much I look away when I talk. When I look back, she is already looking at me, probably noticing how much I can’t look at her)

We talked for a while- or I talked anyway. I told her I love her, but all the while I was looking for the tiny flaws. I told her I wasn’t normally this critical of other people, and that I wished she could talk so she could tell me what she thought of my paintings. I told her that I worry my painting is like masterbation. That all she’s left with is the gooey cumstuff and the triviality of after. Is there any real way to contain and share a moment?


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