Ego and Me

My ego keeps me company. Often at my darkest point, it whispers to me that it's not always going to be like this. That I'm made for great things. Maybe that's the blessing of being an American. It’s unearned self importance. I walked a hundred thousand steps in a day with no training. I badger strangers on the street with probing questions. Who wouldn't want to talk to me!?! I've never considered that it's inconvenient for them. 

I truly think I'm going to be in the Olympics. Even though I have literally done nothing to get to that goal, and that I am sixty pounds heavier than what my BMI is supposed to be. I am still disappointed that I'm not living in a mansion, even though I've been unemployed for more than half this year (even before Corona).  I write articles without rereading them more than once. 

But my ego also keeps me from doing things, things it deems “below me.” It won’t let me apply to Walmart. Even though if I actually worked at Walmart, I would be able to talk to all the strangers I pleased. I would be able to see what kind of people buy certain products. It's probably a job I could show up stoned and with a pink pho-hawk and no one would care. I would be in air-conditioning all day long. The people wouldn't be snobs because they’re shopping there. 

All the great things I've done is because I had a voice backed by nothing but ego. Maybe Donald Trump has the right idea. Talk a big game. Maybe that's what “the secret” is. Just going and seeing what sticks. 

I can't let go of my ego. It's helped me fight past my lack of follow through or preparedness. It enables my procrastinating. It tells me that I don't have to be anything because for some odd reason I'm the best there ever was. And I told you once you son of the bitch I’m the best there ever was (The Devil Went Down to Georgia). 

My ego is a gorilla. My ego is Donald Trump. My ego is me in a tight white dress. My ego is thinking that I can beat up anyone who crosses my path (even though my last fight was in Kindergarten). My ego tells me I’m a Viking. My ego tells me that I’ll never die. My ego tells me that I pull off chin acne. My ego tells me that I'm a natural dancer. My ego tells me that I can still con any man into liking me (tbh this is true). My ego tells me if I just find the right kind of romper, I can actually pull it off. My ego tells me that it's not too late to dye my hair pink. My ego tells me that I'm “not like those other girls.” My ego tells me that I write like Ernest Hemingway. My ego tells me.