For My Next Act...

I am still trying to find myself, but I've been at it for many years and the truth is, I'm running out of places to look. What's worse, I'm not so sure I would recognize myself even if I found myself, since I've been wrong so many times before about who I am. But I guess that's a pretty common problem; these days, so many people are undiagnosed schizophrenics that it's not even considered odd. I just saw a TV commercial for a home pregnancy kit where a woman declares, "Your body can tell you're pregnant even before you can." Like, duh...isn't everyone cut off from their own brain?

In fact, I would settle for just a plain old split personality instead of the multiples I contend with daily. I know, I know--the mind and the body are separate. But come on, how separate are they really? Mine are very closely related, and in fact I never leave home without both. My husband says flatly, "Without a doubt: You are not your body." Well then who are you, I ask him. Your spirit, he says, making me think that perhaps I should have given that Jehovah's Witness more time.

Actually, my spirit is perfectly fine--it's my body that's always too fat or too stiff or in pain or seeking some sort of raison d'etre. For my next act, I am considering volunteering at the city art museum to satisfy my persistent need to "give back." It seems much less germy an atmosphere than a hospital, much more upbeat than an assisted living facility--not to mention a heck of a lot easier to say- and then there are all those fabulous paintings. Maybe I'll find myself there to boot.