You thought you were always this sturdy and ever reliable ceramic jar -- a plain one, of course, but with hints of swirls and subtle intricate designs. And then you suddenly realize you could actually be this dainty, fragile porcelain jar that always primps prettily behind glasses -- always to be admired, always to be coveted. And you ride in high, surfing those waves of delirious happiness, for a few hours, a few days, a few weeks. Damn it, you so want to be that porcelain and sit behind that glass. And so you polish yourself to a gleam, even the merest speck of dust cannot survive the strict scrutiny you subscribed yourself to. You polish yourself to a gleam, subtly changing your ways, pushed to new limits, throwing the old out the window and greeting the new like a warm, warm lover.
 |
| (https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4111/5064467658_43982b8f7d_z.jpg) |
And just as you think yourself ready, you see those other porcelain jars, primping prettily behind those glasses. And they make you doubt yourself. How can a sturdy and reliable ceramic jar be a dainty, fragile porcelain jar? They have been sitting behind those glasses for like forever. And they make you question yourself. Do you even want to sit behind a protected glass? They don't even know what it's like to be a sturdy and reliable ceramic jar. And they make you feel scared. Could you stay as a porcelain jar forever? They always seem to be porcelains without any effort at all.
So you stop. That high you've been riding on deflate, so abrupt that you don't even have to catch yourself as you fall. It leaves you feeling empty, feeling like you're stuck in a limbo -- not wanting to be a dainty, fragile porcelain jar but not wanting to remain a sturdy and reliable ceramic jar either. So you ask yourself. What now?
Yeah. What now?
