We started iron infusion treatments that lasted for two and a half weeks. I got poked, I got iron, I got breakfast, I got pampered. It was like a fucked up spa situation taking place in some parallel, sci-fi universe. It was very Brave New World…
When you only give people tiny pieces of your life—bit by selective bit—there’s bound to be skepticism and the ever lingering thought, “Did I really know this person at all?” And I have to ask, “Does anybody really know…anyone?”
To my one-star reviewer—it’s a good thing you stopped when you did. There is a lot more in my memoir (aside from just the introduction you couldn’t get past because of the “cussing”) to be offended by, because lots of offensive shit has happened in my life.
What anyone experiences while reading, and digesting, my book (aka me) has hardly anything to do with me. But it has everything to do with their life experiences and every little thing that makes them who they are, and I have about as much control over that as I do the person themselves.
I was days away from hitting the PUBLISH button on my book, for both the print and e-version. I’d talked to everyone I could think of, emailed, and texted anyone who would listen but something just wasn’t right. I couldn’t put my finger on it, something felt off.
Do you even exist without a profile? Without followers? Without sharing your every thought and action multiple times a day? Can you be certain you’re growing as a conscious human, aware and in the know about societal issues, if you’re not present? If you’re not posting your values, thoughts, and self-growth, then how can you prove you’re “doing the work?”