The Invisible Woman

"I must be invisible, no one knows me. I have crawled down dead end streets, on my hands and knees." Eric Clapton, guitar god. For a decade now this has been a theme song of mine. Yes, my life is filled with theme songs, playing in my head, accompanying my existance. Different songs for different moods. Songs that fit a mood, songs to pull me out of a mood. This song has played as a background to my life for a solid ten years. I don't view it as a negative, or depressing song, merely a song that expresses how I feel I fit in with society and the people around me. Some may say this is not a very optimistic approach to life, I don't agree. I think it is a realist view of my wish to find the Island of Misfit Toys, an escape from a social network that is more entrapping and confining than social (think of the word "social network" I see NET, a trap, a snare... in the words of colonol Akbar "IT'S A TRAP!").
Back to theme songs and invisibility. I have found that songs can either accompany my mood, or elevate it. I usually use music to elevate my mood, relieve stress, dance away the day's frustrations and boost my endorphins. Some days I just want a song that reflects my feelings, on these days it is often Lonely Stranger by the aforementioned Guitar God, it is a song that most often is a true reflection of the inner me. This brings back the Invisibilty aspect. I often feel that I am looked through or past by so many who say they know me. Are they afraid to truely look at me? To see me for who I am? To acknowledge my existance? Why am I overlooked? I have no idea. But maybe this is why I root for the underdog, literally. Why I prefer dogs that are homely mongrels passed by, overlooked and ignored by people hoping for perfection, beauty and regal lineage? I love the dogs with thinning hair, scaly skin, funky smell and character out the wazoo. They are Ugly Duckling to Swan. Sow's Ear to Silk Purse. Diamond in the Rough. They are the outcasts, the neglected, forgotten, abandoned, abused. They are my Tribe, my Pack, my Family. It is why I willingly spend so much time at home, alone except for the companionship of my beloved, dutiful, loyal dogs because they see me. They see me from the moment the sun lights the room enough to wake them, they dance with joy when they see I am finally awake. They watch, sadly, as I leave for work, watching through the window until I am out of sight (okay, maybe they do that so they can get into mischief as soon as they know I am truely gone). But the first thing I see when I pull into my driveway after a day of dealing with the annoying, indecisive, vapid sheeple is a furry face alert to my approach. My dogs see me, and know me, as no human will ever even attempt.
So, although I may remain invisible to the majority of those who profess to be my friends and aquaintences, I know that I am seen with adoring eyes. Eyes that are adept at seeing into men's souls and judging the good or evil they see there. Eyes that see me, love me, and know me for who I am. And even seeing me as myself, love me unconditionally, without restraint, and never judging. My Tribe. The Clan of The Invisibles.