January 28, 2005

• There’s this elevator at St Vincent Hospital and I don’t usually enjoy standing there.  In between the elevators are large floor-to-ceiling mirrors and for some reason I look different in them.  I can look perfectly fine at my house but twenty minutes later, standing with the crowd, sneaking quick peeks at myself, I don’t look so good.  At home my makeup looked fine, but there I look washed out.  My hair always looks worse, like it’s boring, when I remember thinking it looked pretty good that day.  My pants won’t look long enough, it’s always something. 

  
  

  But today I looked great.  There was nobody there the first time I glanced and since it was such a surprise I hit the button to go up and went back over for another longer look.  Yep, I really looked pretty good.  And what’s funny was that I wasn’t feeling that attractive.  I’ve put on ten pounds and I hadn’t really done much with my hair.  I still can’t quite figure it out. 

  
  

  I don’t think it has anything to do with weight or hair or clothes.  I think that mirror reflects the inner stuff.  It’s not a normal mirror.  You don’t get a close-up.  I don’t know how to describe its opaqueness.  You get more of….I know what it is.  Because you can’t see details you look at the bigger picture of yourself.  You see your stance, your attitude.  It’s more of an overview.  And I’m tellin ya there’s something better about me.

  • 3:29 am
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