From agent inkysocks

There’s nothing worse that finding yourself unlovable while wearing a gorilla suit, a sort of Kafka-nightmare where one’s actions cannot be taken back because the gesture was much too grand and flamboyant to disappear, to simply fold oneself up, origami-style and pretend to be a quieter woman with blonde hair who suffers migraines elegantly and barely speaks. A breathetarian who leaves half a piece of toast on the counter because she forgets about it (These are generally the air signs) It’s way too late to “take two.” Suddenly, I could tell—as if the three-way mirror went additional ways, as well––just how grossly I had miscalculated.