The things is, you are not yourself. And that's not a good thing. But it's also a good thing for a change, really. It's a cycle, a typhoon of personalities that shadow each other over each other, a merging of colors that practically define who you are at certain intervals.
You take on persona after persona. Today you're the naive little Charlie, or the frenzied Holly Golightly while she searched for Cat that rainy day in New York-clutching to her only idea of a family, but tomorrow you could be anybody. You could be the cat by then darling. That would be charming. Or the chair. Whichever you prefer really.
You go to parties and street parties or the quiet types on hushed Roman verandas wearing those black alligator shoes that sweet old man gave you-or you could've bought those, you can't remember. Really. You can't remember. But the dress on the other hand, you're sure it was a gift from someone. Only you don't remember who but that doesn't really matter darling does it? I mean are we really gonna spend the entirety of today remembering where you got all those stuff? Don't be ridiculous.
It will only bring up those nights you woke up with blood on your hands. But you were sure that was ketchup-with a horrible horrible stench. Even the body right next to you could've been creepy if it wasn't Mr. O'Riley. Or Mr. Something the other night. But you're sure this was just a Halloween prank. I mean, how else will you have blood in those perfectly manicured hands darling? You would never allow it.
Oh golly. The time. It's already 8:45 and you'd never want to be late for a party. O good heavens no! It would be impolite. And ratty. Off you go darling. And have you brought that handy knife in your bag? We wouldn't want any impolite men now, do we?
vii: Jungian Concept of Individuation