Reflection of a Reflection

This is the view from outside my window. It's interesting because every time I look out the window, about 56% of it is a reflection of my living room. If that isn't a metaphor for life, I don't know what is.

OK, I actually don't know what "is". Seriously. What is? I don't know. Not sure I even understand the question. Perhaps if I were a poet or poetess, I might be able to compile an apt metaphor from that dangerous grey matter known as my brain, but for now - I don't know what "is" is and my brain is taking a brief vacation at the Retirement Hills Resort in Fort Lauderdale, Florida. It's Jewish and the dry heat is good for its sciatica.

I work from home - which basically means I spend 2-3 hours a day working, and the rest huddled in the fetal position - sobbing quietly and gently caressing my big toe with a handful of moisturizing cream. Sometimes I scream "why, Jesus, why?!!?" while eating a vat of expired Thousand Island salad dressing. Sometimes I simply lip-sync to "A-Ha's" greatest hits while rubbing mayo on my chest - wondering if there is bread big enough to encase my condiment-smothered body. Sometimes, I question if life is worth it and sometimes I wonder if the calories from the mayo are making me "hipy".

But every once in a while I turn my head to look outside my window. And there's always that reflection. Half inside/half out. Kind of like a prolapsed vagina. Please don't google that. But seriously, it's exactly like a prolapsed vagina. Again, don't google. I'm adamant about that. Really - you've got standards.

I guess the metaphor is apt. I'm a New Yorker, staring out my blank window to the vast, vacuous wasteland that is Los Angeles. There's about as much culture here as a Star Magazine can provide. Definitely something is missing. Soul, depth...to be pretentious - I'll even say myself. I'm half in/half out. A reflection of a reflection.

I see a street sign buried in the depths of some pictures hanging up on my wall - but in the end, all it is - is a reflection. An idea of what things could or should be. My body might be situated in a medium-sized living room (at quite a steal, I may add), but my mind is elsewhere - transversing expensive streets in blank cities - wondering if I'll ever find a reasonable place to live - or, if the odds are Vegas-style - wondering if I'll be spending all my money in the flashy place with the women with the fake boobies.

Either way, it's all just an idea - a concept looking at a concept. Perhaps the answer will appear one day - perhaps it won't. Either way, I'll still be staring out the window, wondering if I'm looking outside or seeing a mirror of what's inside.