Last night, the Southern Belle (new roomate from Georgia) decided to make strawberry shortcakes. Its been a trend lately in the apartment to bake, because its a better excuse than watching tv for not going to the gym (Now that May if officially closed, I can proudly state that I paid 50 bucks to not go once. Go me).
So she whips out the old Betty Crocker, which is now new and cool with laminated pages and in a binder format so you can add your own receipes, and gets to baking.
And when all is said and done, what she had made were biscuits. Biscuits are strawberry shortcakes, once the strawberries are added. But we coulda whipped up some ham and eggs and had ourselves a down-home breakfast if we had wanted.
And then, extraordinarily, she proclaims "I AM southern! I made bisquits! Now I have an identity!"
It was a funny moment, but it was also not. Damn that bitch for getting an identity before me! I mean yeah, I exist, I have a name and fingerprints and a Discover card like any good post-graduate, but an identity, a sense of self, a 'this is me, now' kinda feeling? Hell no. I was a student from the age of 4 to 22, and unbeknownst to myself, that was the foundation of "me". Whatever else I added on top was important, but was also simply just toppings.
I am an ice cream sundae minus the ice cream.
And everyone fucking feels like this- admit it. Who are you and what are you and what is your worth? If you don't consider these questions on at the very least a daily basis then you are a mammal and thats it. No concept of destiny, fate, nihilism, no standing on the existence of God or the morality of humanity, justice, truth, others and yourself, yourself verses others, and you've got nothing but a spine and thats about it.
And we don't want to identify with our jobs, and gender seems too widely scoped to encompass just one person, and maybe we all have hobbies and certain characteristics that form our personality-- but do we name these things as in "Hello, my name is ______ and I am a male loquacious collector of bug carcasses."
I keep coming back to the same expression when I think about this stuff. "Square One". "I'm still in square one", "I feel like I just am stuck in square one", "After all this time, here I am starting all over, square one", and in fact, has anyone ever heard the term "Square [inserst variable number here]"? Maybe the Dalai Llama is in Square Three, but he's not talking about it.
So in thinking about it, I've come to the conclusion that square one is a really big fucking square. Its bigger than a lifetime, and mabye its really a cube. It so big and so encompassing, it is life itself. So my roomate is "southern" and I'm still working on it, but really we are in the same place.
Perhaps when you die you go on to the next square, vertically or horizontally or even diagonally from this one. Unless reincarnation is the way things really happen and then we're all just fucked.