watch for gesture

Max was in the bathroom again this week, practicing his faces in the mirror. This is something he's been doing for more than half his life, mostly when he thinks we aren't looking. He just tries the faces out, sees what they look like, perfects them. More than half the time he gives them a name, too. The hairy eyeball. The pickle face. Angry man. Then he'll whip'em out on us when he thinks it's appropriate.

We are raising a child who seems completely detached from real emotion. They're just suits of clothes he puts on for the occasion. I should be worried, but it seems to me that this probably isn't uncommon. I am unable to truly feel anything most of the time. Emotions are just suits of clothes, especially when they're happening to me. I get more genuinely upset for the characters in a drama I'm watching than I do when something happens in my own life. Sociopathy, here I come.

Next time you see me, go ahead and ask me how I feel. I swear if I figure out how to feel I'll let you know.