The Lover in the Mirror

Literature leads me to strange places and wondrous insights.

I use it as a refuge when this world gets way too stupid for me to deal with. An incident the other night at work with some little hoe using a cameraphone to take pics of herself in the dressingroom to send to her skanky boyfriend has caused me to seek the sublime refuge that lies in cantos and stanzas....

So, I've been back at Spenser's The Faerie Queene. Not light reading at all, but norishing. I feel more human when I lose myself in the arcanity of works like this.

And lo and behold (crap!) I have discovered something about myself I knew all along but couldn't clearly articulate--that I embody the qualities of Britomart.

It ain't easy being a lady in knight's armor. But I know how to use the sword quite well ;-)

And I really *really* hate that feeling when I see that lover in the mirror. Part of me just goes "dang! not again!"

I get those glimpses from time to time, and it frightens me....but it's fright in a good way. Exhiliaration. and I keep on with The Quest.... what else am I going to do?