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All of us have our deficiencies. 
As an artist, I lack a muse. Unless you count my cats. Or dogs. But I don’t think that’s what my drawing teacher has in mind.
As a writer, I’m stuck with the only ego I’ve got. There’s no alter.
Once, for Halloween, I pretended I had a crow as a familiar. But that was just a costume.
Do I envy others’ gifts? Of course – to sing and compose like Joni Mitchell – who wouldn’t want that.
But I don’t want to be her, even for a nonce. Even just in my head. Can’t stand tobacco. Can she enjoy her own music as much as I do?
Whose songs does she play when I would play hers? 

Me and my Ego (not to mention our galpals -- Id and Superego) have had our troubles. Always something we could be doing better. 
But after all these years, why run around playing with some shiny new faux ego?
Do I need a bit of fluff on the side? Psyche candy, whose role is to validate my right to belong among people who do have alter egos? Is that fair to the old gal? 
We shift along well enough by ourselves. Thank you, just the same.

For April 8, name your alter-ego, and then describe him/her in detail. Then write in your alter-ego’s voice.


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