Mirror

Sylvia Plath

I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.
Whatever I see, I swallow immediately.
Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike
I am not cruel, only truthful –
The eye of a little god, four-cornered.
Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall.
It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long
I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers.
Faces and darkness separate us over and over.

Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me.
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
I am important to her. She comes and goes.
Each morning it is her face that replaces the darkness.
In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman
Rises toward her day after day, like a terrible fish.

So my brother got a piano. Or to be more specific, his parents bought a piano for him. Huh. My parents wouldn't have bought me a piano at six. Considering we share one of these parents, this causes me considerable distress.

But that's a different story.

Anyway, a piano. Yeah. It's a real fucking piano. You know what that means? It has no power button. You can't shut it off. You can't turn it down. Hello, migraine. So nice to see you again. Glad you could make it.

Of course my brother loves the blasted thing. He repeatedly plunks out the three ten-second songs he knows with the greatest dedication and zeal. My best bet at this point is that he gets his finger caught in the hinge of the cover and declares enmity (the young are so impetuous).

But of course I love my brother too much to wish such misfortune on him. Continue, my little artiste. I have plenty of painkillers, after all.

The best thing about Chace Crawford is his face. Which is saying something, considering his abs. Or his arms. Or those pectorals...

I won't bore you. We all know how yummy he is. Which is why I am deeply disturbed by this...thing I found on the internet today. While I entertain the idea that the internet can be misleading, in this case I am inclined to ignore the voices in my head.

For those of you who haven't figured it out, this is Chace Crawford in high school. So not delicious.

I can't even tell you how disturbed I am by this image. You mean Chace wasn't always his mysterious sexy self? I for one never questioned that. Raise your hand if you're with me.

Okay, whatever. Moving on. I read somewhere that all your passwords should be different. And that you should change them every month. Right, okay. Because I would remember, lets see... fourteen different passwords. Don't even start on usernames. And that's just for one month. Who can do that? Noone. This notion of having different passwords is just sadistic, a cruel trick created by those who still use snail mail and keep their money under their beds. People like that don't need passwords. Let's get rid of them.