Insert: prose digression

I don't feel like myself today; a skin shedding was due yesterday at 4 and I was 15 minutes late for my appointment. Everybody else had already gotten their skins shed, waxed, polished, refurbished and glistered up for a clean new countenance. A fresh countenance, I suppose you can say. And I missed that chance--a chance to keep up with the trends and the latest ensembles that mean so much today and mean so little tomorrow. No, the opportunity wasn't so much a necessity to my being. Not so much as others beg the need for a fix--this fix, to keep up with life in the pace of change: styles, fashions, language, medication, personalities, music.

I feel like I deliberately forced an immunity to these "re-creations". A breach to the system. Yet, I still feel a tinge of morose from an unforeseen cause. Sometimes I wonder if I should acquiesce to the current and pick up a new face. Perhaps then I will feel more entertained and "inside" with the others. I wonder that.

Or perhaps I am pensive because I cannot relate to the "skin shedders". And, because of that, I am cloistered in my bubble of "immunity to the system". The ability to forego the change.

And sometimes, I just wonder about that.

Vacant scene:
I looked through a looking glass
and saw what I would have seen--
a tete-a-tete taking place at the coffee shop
next door to the university; an engaging conversation.
(You can tell the difference between captivating,
meaningful conversation in these occurrences.)

I can't remember the name of the shop
(funny, how I used to go there all the time).
A vacant dream it seems; that I've forgotten
something that had used to be "me".