I really hate that I can’t stand in front of a mirror and take a good look at myself. I want to know what I look like. Taking the word of my family and friends is not good enough. I need to know for myself. What do I need to know? What I look like. It’s just that simple.
I’ve lost a lot of weight in the last year. I wonder how I’m looking now. I have a prosthesis in my left eye socket. I wonder if that really looks as real and normal as folks say it does. I want to know how I’m aging. I want to judge whether or not I look best with long or short hair. I want to know how much more weight should I lose or not lose.
I’ll never forget this man, a preacher, trying to get his mack on with me. He approached me to tell me that I was so beautiful. He claimed he didn’t want me to have to wait until I got to heaven and got my sight back to know how pretty I was. Of course, he continued to serve me his BS on a plastic platter. I wasn’t eating though. But that’s all beside my point.
The fact is I don’t want to wait until I get to heaven to know how I look. I suspect that when I get to heaven, knowing how I looked on earth will mean nothing-nothing to me.
Well, I guess I’m just going to have to cope. I certainly know what that looks like. I also know that coping is a good look for me. On the other hand, bitterness, resentment, and feeble self confidence is definitely not the look I should be rocking. It just ain’t my style.
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