Some days I feel temporary.

Like I’m just a visitor from another planet. Just here until the Mother Ship comes and takes me home.
And I think, “I have so much to do in such a small amount of time”. Spending more time making a list of all the important things that need to be done before I go.
Just to lose the list.

Or a holographic image. Seeming lifelike and tangible from a distance, but the closer you get, you see the fragility of my existence.
An image without substance.

On other days I feel sturdy and rooted and permanent. Absorbing information. Dendrites growing. Emitting my learning and my expertise. Building something of importance. Strong and sturdy for those who need to use me for support or for reference, or for ingenuity. Creating stories, strengthening relationships.
Contributing more than just carbon dioxide.

Neither feeling upsets or confuses me. I merely note the incongruity between the two and wonder what I will feel tomorrow and if anyone ever feels the same.

But most days, I feel as though I just think too much about how I feel.
And I’m tempted to be “sexist” and blame it on my gender.
Or “Freudian” and blame it on my upbringing.
Or “Catholic” and blame it on an examination of conscience.

And I realize that there is no one or nothing to blame.