said gently

I spoke to myself (lightly) about cognitive dissonance in preparation for what was coming; obviously I knew it was coming.  But cognitive dissonance is nothing new or remarkable.  It’s everywhere in my life.  My love for smoking that makes my chest hurt.  My love for red wine that invites migraine headaches.  My love of T.S. Eliot, and fucking in cars, and every other beautiful, fucking self-sabotaging thing that breaks my heart wide open but which I still cannot properly regret because that pain feels like flying.  Because I do not have a proper sense of self-preservation.  Because I never really believe there will be consequences to my decisions.  And maybe that is truer than not, because the consequence most often is simply living  with myself, quietly imagining what it would feel like to tear the flesh off my chest, expose my rib cage, pull out my heart and drop it on the kitchen table amongst the breakfast dishes.  Cognitive dissonance is no big thing.


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