Masks.
Everyone wears one. Even myself.
Everyday I watch the constant parade of facades, the great masquerade of life, passing fro and to. What would happen if everyone dropped their pale shell and displayed who they really were.
My mask hides my grief, which, were I to show it, would flatten several city blocks. All of my life I’ve also contained my emotions, since being an empathic being, I can project my emotions just as easily as I can detect or absorb them from around me.
There are few who know how to read me, to decipher what I’m feeling at any moment. My late husband knew every single change in my demeanor. Even though he never saw my eyes, he knew what mood I was in, either by the tone of my voice to the tightness of my muscles. He was keyed in on the minutae of Wildcat.
As I watch people on the streets, or at work, or in the stores, I often try to see the person behind the mask. You don’t catch it very often. We all present a picture to others, being governed by the rigors of society, hemmed in by rules of conduct.
At work, you have rules of conduct, which get increasingly more tenuous as the years progress. In most cases, you can’t have a decent debatable conversation or banter without it being deemed inappropriate and the spectre of human resources coming down on you.
In my office, we don’t really conform to this. We discuss all sorts of off the wall topics and some days it’s a cornucopia of hysterically amusing badinage, although with deep points inserted. It’s one of the reasons I enjoy going in to the office.
And we don’t wear masks with each other. My group and I have all seen our good sides and bad sides. We’ve had our fall outs and come back again. We pick on each other as much as we support each other. Outside the office, the masks go back on.
Isn’t that always the way though?
wildcatleeds
I keep ya guessing
WildcatLeeds 