Playing my part well

The snow is mounting outside. I have readings to read, paintings that lie unfinished from last August want my indifferent strokes to cross them out. I have emptied a cardigan full of chocolates.
A song makes my flesh tingle with desire again.
I wish I cared.
I developed a condescension for everyone and everything when I realized I knew. I was ten when I found I could separate myself from my body. It scared me and I only did it consciously when I was sad.
Brilliance is so deafening. At 16 when my parents would introduce me to people who were identified as intelligent I could smell rot. Lost limbs,organs,lives for this brilliance. I let them break my heart. It amused me.
My condescension lets none peek into the self that has been nurtured so lovingly by the un-self without.
Poem-penning, Barthes-spouting, communal loneliness evoked camaraderie makes me act with the same flourish as does a lover who saves me for the wedding night.

I do wish I cared.