Isn’t it strange?
We’re inescapably here,
In these bodies, 24/7.
And still we’re trying to find ourselves?
I’m thinking about creating a character.
Someone for a novel or a short story.
Who is she?
(who am I)?
All the fiction handbooks say to
If we’re inside this character we see
The woman who will daily
My character browses the internet,
Full of dreams and hopes.
Races out for just-in-time pet food.
Loves her family and friends.
Falls into bed at night
Clinging to a list of accomplishments:
Vacuumed. Graded papers. Fixed insurance.
Unaware of what showing her actions tells.