Do people ever stare at you so hard you’re certain something’s desperately wrong? Whooooo boy. Now rationally, I think on a given day on the train: it’s probably cat lint. I have a new respect for cat owners because that? Is here to stay. Or my hair. It’s orange. Or a color I’m wearing. Then my brain revs up and says: you are wearing two different shoes. You’re wearing one earring. Your skirt is tucked into your tights. You forgot to button your shirt. You forgot your shirt. You forgot your pants. You aren’t wearing a bra. You look like Joanne the Scammer. And so on. I’m telling you, one of these days I’ll pop and whisper-scream “What are you looking at?” This is New York, where you don’t do that sh*t.
But…listen, this is my issue. It’s my brutal cross to bear, considering all the possible calamities I’ve committed in fashion, in social settings, you get the drift. I’m gonna work on it. In the meantime, I’ll do my meditation and cut myself some slack…. While trying not to stare at super weird people sitting nearby. Cause, ya know, self-growth.