Look for Me in Your Windowsill

Invisibility hurts.

It stings.

Occasionally, it even rankles the marrow of one’s bones.

Don’t worry. I’m not climbing up on my high horse to lecture about the plight of the homeless (whose invisibility is the cruelest since it is intended by the visible) or the war veterans (whose stories only make it on the news when one of the thousands of these souls soundly breaks and tries to take the rest of the world with them).

No, I’m talking about me.

*the world gasps sarcastically as I jump up and down and wave frantically*

While most of the time I enjoy slipping through life without much notice (it is far easier to curl up into a little, mad ball and PANIC-PANIC-PANIC when you know no one is watching), there are times when a little acknowledgement of my existence would be nice.

Admittedly, I’m not a social butterfly. Heck, most of the times I’m not even a moth (you know, the kind you only notice when you find its corpse lying on your windowsill? *lol*)

But…

I do breathe.

I do walk this world with the rest of humanity.

Just because I have not been blessed with a brilliant, thriving career outside the home…

Just because I have not been gifted with spouse and children…

Or with financial independence (yet)…

Or complete, boring sanity…

I do exist.

At least, I think I do.

Can one be a figment of one’s own self?

*shivers at that really cruel thought, before chuckling at the utter stupidity of this post*

Apologies. This blog today has been beyond stupid; it’s been self-pitying.

I hate that.

In fact, I’d delete this whole thing if I wasn’t railing against the whole invisibility crap.

So, here, I am.

Feel free to turn away, just please don’t walk all over me as if you didn’t see me at all.

Until tomorrow when this blog will return to its regular, um, normalcy…

Chloe