WHAT BECOMES A LEGEND MOST?
Right now I'm about half "look out Texas" posturing and half "what if they find out I use Cardio Dance Blast workout DVDs?". Oh, wait, the internet didn't know that I use Cardio Dance Blast DVDs, either. And now you do. But I don't care because Cardio Dance Blast is freaking fun, even if it is fraught with bizarrely racial tensions and a pinch too much "you go, girlfriend" snap snap.
Truly, I know that the secret to having authentic relationships with people (rather than unending plays in which I play the best version of myself and you play my secret love, estranged best friend, or worthy cohort, as fitting) is letting them know about the Cardio Dance Blast hidden at the back of the bookshelf. (The metaphorical bookshelf, I mean.) (But the Cardio Dance Blast isn't a metaphor. Oh no, that shit is real.) So this is why it's terrifying. I'm afraid that my poems told these people that I was a lot cooler than I am. I don't want to show up and hear them say, "Wait, you're the one who wrote 'Defacto Ballroom'? We thought you would be taller. And skinnier. And have some kind of trendy drug problem. Or something."
Clearly I have no idea what I'm talking about.
In any case, I'm going to be in Austin at this time tomorrow to find an apartment, sign a lease, and maybe calm myself down. Or maybe get a sunburn. I don't know what's going to happen. Maybe the heavy upper 90s temperatures will cause my insecurities to dry up and blow away. Or like, maybe not.
Right now I'm about half "look out Texas" posturing and half "what if they find out I use Cardio Dance Blast workout DVDs?". Oh, wait, the internet didn't know that I use Cardio Dance Blast DVDs, either. And now you do. But I don't care because Cardio Dance Blast is freaking fun, even if it is fraught with bizarrely racial tensions and a pinch too much "you go, girlfriend" snap snap.
Truly, I know that the secret to having authentic relationships with people (rather than unending plays in which I play the best version of myself and you play my secret love, estranged best friend, or worthy cohort, as fitting) is letting them know about the Cardio Dance Blast hidden at the back of the bookshelf. (The metaphorical bookshelf, I mean.) (But the Cardio Dance Blast isn't a metaphor. Oh no, that shit is real.) So this is why it's terrifying. I'm afraid that my poems told these people that I was a lot cooler than I am. I don't want to show up and hear them say, "Wait, you're the one who wrote 'Defacto Ballroom'? We thought you would be taller. And skinnier. And have some kind of trendy drug problem. Or something."
Clearly I have no idea what I'm talking about.
In any case, I'm going to be in Austin at this time tomorrow to find an apartment, sign a lease, and maybe calm myself down. Or maybe get a sunburn. I don't know what's going to happen. Maybe the heavy upper 90s temperatures will cause my insecurities to dry up and blow away. Or like, maybe not.
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