Work in progress
Someone told me the other day, that they were happy that I was not " a work in progress" I know what they meant and i was flattered but it got me thinking this afternoon. Aren't we all a work in progress somehow? Everyone we see changes us in some way. A cheebie smiling can invoke feelings of either a paternal or maternal nature. But a finished work never changes. It sits on the wall gathering dust.
I know he meant that I was my own person, that I could stand for myself. I know my own personality and accept it as it is. But, in another sense, I will always be a work in progress. If I stop changing,stop being messed with, consider myself finished then all I am worth is a few ooh and ahhs and a cake of dust. I'm allergic to dust.
I want people to change me, I want people to mess with the solid outline that's already there. I want to be a work in progress. To be still is to wither and die. I want to be full of life and so, my dear, I understand the compliment and thank you accordingly, but from now on, can we consider me a work in progess?
I know he meant that I was my own person, that I could stand for myself. I know my own personality and accept it as it is. But, in another sense, I will always be a work in progress. If I stop changing,stop being messed with, consider myself finished then all I am worth is a few ooh and ahhs and a cake of dust. I'm allergic to dust.
I want people to change me, I want people to mess with the solid outline that's already there. I want to be a work in progress. To be still is to wither and die. I want to be full of life and so, my dear, I understand the compliment and thank you accordingly, but from now on, can we consider me a work in progess?