Test: 20180307:18:20

Test: 20180307:18:20

What do I do when it feels like it’s all been done before? Write about it, publish it, then forget about it so the next time it comes up, which is like tomorrow, it sorta feels like a surprise déjà vu.

Sitting down here to write to you about my day, there is really nothing hidden here.  Feeling fairly naked as a jail Bird, I really have no idea who you are on the other side of this screen. Ya’ know, the “who” that is reading this?

Yeah, you – I’m writing to you,

Who you are? Who are you? You have no name or number either, but you are human (except a couple of you are AI bots, and that’s cool too. Whotever).

What I do know? Who I am. In a lot of different realms, even. Legally and in this reality, I am identified by the code name “Stephanie Bird”. When I write I use the code name “Selah”. That’s most of what I know so far. Also, my feet stink occasionally and I should probably do something about that.

Four or so paragraphs in, there is a real story somewhere out there. Sea, I hid this story in a see of words and some real shitty writing about “me” so no One would find IT, but me. Did it work?

Anywho, the thing is, I am alOne. Mono y’ mono, I’m just mono. I’m not totally sure how I feel about this “single” status lately, but it doesn’t feel totally happy or zen. Instead, some days it feels a bit like I got mono.

In this One humono form, I am a woman. One who feels like a wo/man who usually prefers men to women. Friends and partners alike, I prefer men to women. It’s very complicated, you sea. I have blond hair, blue eyes and a figure that figures. Family and friends describe me as beautifully strange in awesome sorts of ways that seem hard to describe or even put a finger on because I’m so sensitive. I just am (annoyingly honest sometimes). People also find some seriously wrong shit with my honesty. They are right sometimes, I am sure.

In any case, I am not sure what all this means, except to express…I am alone. I am single, and God damn IT… I still watch the Bachelor and secretly dream of being Cinderella to a handsome Prince without a name. Visioning a day when that symbol returns, there is no one here to rescue me from this sea of words. It’s stormy, but there she blows!

Oh! Gotta go, the fish might be burning…


p.s. talk to you soon?

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