Saturday, October 23, 2004

Killing Me Softly

So who keeps giving out my number? Why does every thing I read or watch or hear seem to apply to my life? Am I that narcissistic? Why is Desperate Housewives about my life again? Could it be that my story, at its essence, is everyone's story? Is it a listening heart or a solipsistic episode? Every life tells a story, but every story also touches a life--mine it seems. Am I on The Truman Show? Sometimes my life could pass for a reality show (or, God forbid, Jerry Springer)--no script, people with bad manners and an agenda, and contrived conflict. On the other hand, though, there are too many coincidences. I ask God for a sign, and I drive by the blue Nova--ours? Accompanied on the radio by just the right song. I follow a truck bearing the motto "life beckons." I see a program about people who stop living in fear and their friends who won't even admit they're afraid. I can hear the words; I know they are meant for me. I half expect the characters to look out at the audience and talk directly to me. Or I'll read an ad that says 'just do it, lorinda.' Maybe there'll even be a song telling lorinda to stop fearing, but will I be around to hear it? I'm not sure, all these signs are killing me.

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