Today I met the me I often am. What a concept.
She, who isn’t always present, is annoyingly cheerful, in the sense that she is happy without cause, whereas my usual me guages it acceptable to remain miserable until, and only AFTER, some external beneficence has been bestowed.
To be with someone genial on their own accord sets the uum-pah! bar high.
In short, she makes me feel inferior, which is in fact, the fact.
I like this cheery ole me but distrust her. Taking things seriously is what we women who grew up hoping to change the status of our sex, strive for.
I’m not sure why we are inclined so, but it seems the only way to be taken seriously is to wear the coat of seriousness…and this is will get us to what we want and need, right?