There are days when you'd settle
for running into just one person
who is at least less annoying
than you have become to yourself;
--and when even that is apparently
too much to ask.
So you go home loathing everyone.
Grudgingly, you think well enough
of yourself to get through the evening.
You observe your own quirky, tiresome,
You have no clue who
you really are or what
"really are" even means.
You have no interest
in finding a clue.
With disgust, then, you go to bed.
Sleep gives you desperately needed
respite from thinking of people
and your ego--that Self who's
just like everybody else.
hans ostrom 2014