A Revelation through Ayn Rand, Dexter, and "J".

Have you ever been seethingly proud to be yourself?
Has ever the sheer reality of your existence blazed in your hands, and pulsed in your temples with each beat of your heart, and ran through the cold flesh of your numb toes?

I can't really begin to total the immensity of the simple discover I have made, but I can describe it, what it means, and how it came to be.

I had coaxed myself into a roleplay - It's something I've done many times, and it's something I had expected to be inconsequential, though perhaps more consequential than others, because it was with a particularly interesting person.

Something happened, though, and the importance of it took until 8:00 PM to make sense to me.

I had been told to be Me, and I wasn't very good at it
I was better at being Ichirin than I was at being Zack. I even get postcards, on rare occasion, addressed to "I. Kumoi".

I took a few steps backward, or maybe even forward, I can't tell which direction.
And I saw me.

I am such a profoundly intricate being.

All the single, overlookable, almost subconscious memories that somehow curved or bent the wire that would ultimately lace itself into "Zack C. Harmeyer".
How brilliant it is to exist beyond fiction!

I'm burning - I'm ablaze with the sheer reality that "I AM".

All week I whispered to myself: "I Think. I Am. I Will".
This little Randian Mantra to spare me from the sudden overwhelming feelings of Obligation, and Self, and Aspiration I feel.

My God, it's like when you expect something to work, and it does - just not the way you planned. Like water flowing backward to make a mill work in an Escher sketch.

I AM.

Truly, I am.

I am Zack.

I am Male.

I would like to be a Doctor.

I once cut my nails too short with a small ivory pocketknife my mother bought me at an England auction. My big toe hurt particularly bad.

I once saw a bright yellow spider in a playground corner. I am convinced it was a Fiddleback or something, but I may be wrong, because I remember telling a boy that there was a Shield Beetle climbing a tree in a Castle Park, and I was probably wrong.

Michael Castor stole Root Beer from Dave's Fridge, and he put a lock on it - he was the only boy to eat his Salad in Kindergarten.

I sang in a hospice when I was small, and was not brave enough to eat the mince pies there. I remember that almost everyone there was balding, and had oxygen tubes in their noses.

I have many volunteer hours, all essentially under the same benefactor.

I wear leather dress gloves when I lift weights.

I inadvertantly associate bacon with salt, after eating something advertised as a "Bacon Bap" at a fair in England.

I have never felt this insatiable desire to tell you something that I will likely tell you tomorrow, "J."

I hope it will still reel in my mind with the blatant, simple profoundness that it has today.

I contest internally not to let this be resigned to some compact corner of thought.

I have to keep this real - this is part of my Anthem.

My God, how I "Am".
All it took was that wayward roleplay and three episodes of Dexter.
So chance and coincidental.
I am, I am, I am, I am.