"People aren't governed by their profession, emotionally. Like, you might be an architect and I might be a manager, but we're artists at heart." As a self-professed artist who doesn't actually make great art, I only subscribe to the tenets of fragility, where every gaze lands on me like lead, and I'll over-think it, and dwell on it. The only thing different about me is, I have a very short term memory. Like awful memory, like a fishing net that doesn't hold facts, maybe only tenors of emotions, a vague impression. Then I just totally forget. I'll forget my heart, completely absorbed in a new thing, like a total bimbo.
Maybe this is a form of self-protection.
"If you're over thirty and you haven't got scabs on your heart, you're blessed."
The only scabs I have are the scrapes all over my legs. So I'm bracing for the hurt someday, maybe it'll come in like a two ton truck in the tunnel. Maybe it's better to accumulate some scabs on the way so one doesn't get blindsided, or maybe, maybe I'm either blessed or a total, total, sincere, heartfelt, deeply sensitive BIMBO.
Right.