i used to think the most interesting thing about me
was that i never learned how to ride a bike
there used to be this story that goes. i never made sense. and this me, exported and dragged into life and love and food shopping always broke down. got fucked up. spent rejected. and spun. the same pattern again. and always. over. again. the looking-glass-glowering, me. until i stopped expecting to realize that this me. isn't me. at all.
there's this old story that goes: my mother, who was then no-one's wife or mother, tried to learn how to drive my father's brand-new standard-transmission car on a beach and crashed it.