I'm just me--for all the world to see.
It's been a long time since I've been just me.
Usually, I'm in character. A character that is like me, of course, but not all of me. There is a proper mask in the appropriate character painted for every occasion and sort of company. But all of them are at least three shades more pale--more boring--than just me. That's not an accident. It's only possible to avoid notice and fit seamlessly into the setting if we are painted perfectly for the part at hand. So there is a proper character for giving a speech or singing a solo or teaching a class or writing a blog post.
And then there is just me. Me is the one that pops out around true friends--sweet or dorky or snarky or convicted. But now me is just tired down to the core and content, but not really sure how to describe that weird feeling that comes from watching a pink and purple sunset over tree-covered mountains and more than a little disgruntled at the unusual lack of words.
And so
to bed I go.
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