Why is it that epiphanies are always about something really profane? It would have taken Sherlock Holmes mere seconds (Dr. S. and I took our time, 12 months or so) to deduce that my real self is very unconventional whereas my ego is buried under heavily embedded Conventions (capital C). That other miserable me has very suburban notions of what connotes a good person, a good enough mother, a reasonable person, a sane person, a NORMAL person. I'm an unconventional self taken hostage by a daytime soap-watching, J.C. Penney-shopping (IWallmart? Food 4 Less? Fred Segal’s?), mousy hair colored (no highlights in 8 months) conventional schlock. And it's keeping a sistah down, man!
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