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I was just thinking about secrets. I mean, what's the point? Why is it that we can't tell people certain things about ourselves. Is it from shame? From being too embarrassed as to how people might perceive we actually are? Or, maybe it's a sort of need for superiority. Like a childhood "I know something you don't know." Maybe it's to keep people on their toes, waiting. Hoping the next thing said is going to be juicy.

I don't think there's much about me that someone doesn't know. I guess I don't have secrets. There are plenty of things that individual people don't know, but, as a world, there's not much of me to hide. Odd. I wonder if that's how most people are. Probably not. I think I'm quick to share personal things about myself. That's probably not the best thing, though. Or, maybe it's only not good because no one else does that. It's not inherently unsafe. It's just that the secret-sharing is one-sided, or something like that.

I don't tell everyone everything about me because there's a lot-- a lot of stuff, I guess, that I don't want people (as a general rule) to know. But, someone knows. I think. I'm not sure if this is bad. Well, it's probably one of those socially constructed good/bad things. So, in other words, it's probably no big deal.

Most of the time I think I'm crazy for supposing that I can go off and be by myself for 2 years. Totally, completely alone. Okay, well, I won't be totally and completely alone. But, I will be away from all that I know--people, ideas, culture--and that is really starting to scare me. It's not like I don't enjoy my own company is the thing.

I hate being alone in my apartment. I listen to NPR more for the company than for the information. Unfortunately. Even when I'm not physically alone, though, I feel mentally and emotionally alone. The thing is, it's not always bad. But, sometimes, it just doesn't feel right.

The most terrible thing about feeling alone is that I know that I'm not. I have so many friends: they're not the problem. The problem, is me. I think I'm too hard on people. Too critical of everyone--myself included. And in being this way, I drive people away. I think my problems are special. But, they're not. I think no one can relate--but that's only because I don't let them. I dig my own grave and that's what's so hard to come to grips with. It's not like I can't be different. I'm just not.

When I think about it all in these terms, being "alone" for 2 years doesn't sound so bad. Maybe the way that I feel alone here won't be how I feel alone there. Here my alone is isolating and self-perpetuated. It's like I'm a crazy person on the street. In the middle of hustle and bustle. And I get lost in the crowd. That's feeling alone. But being alone. Well, maybe that's different. If I have no one else to be with then it's not like there's something better. An invisible floater in the middle of chaos, on the other hand, always sees what could be and what isn't.

But, then, I'll come back. And, it will most likely be all the same. Unless I change. And, I do believe I can.

Today I had to transfer my phone numbers from one phone into another and it was quite an eye-opening experience. I keep things. Most things. Important and unimportant. Just in case. Papers, books, pictures, notes, and phone numbers. I'd had my old phone (the duct tape was interfering with the reception) for about 4 years, I think. Maybe not that long, actually. But, I'd never really cleared out my phone book, so the numbers--some of them--were from people that I haven't talked to since high school. I made a point of only transferring in numbers that I actually need and, sadly, my phone book is now about half as full. I guess it wasn't so sad, just something, I'm not sure. A realization. It made me think of how many phone numbers I'll be clearing out come June or July. How many people I'll lose touch with and if I'll care just the same. I've come to appreciate people in my life for what they are--or at least I'm trying to--for me now and not trying to hold on to them for the future. I'm not sure if it's worthless to put time, energy, emotion into a relationship that is, logistically, not to last, but I don't think it is.

So, the hardest number for me to delete--but also probably the healthiest--was DM (this initial thing is very liberating, I must say). I haven't talked to him since the time we went to Chinatown at the beginning of last year and had that big soup thing. And, even then, it was weird and hard. I hadn't hardly even seen him since--maybe once or twice. So, I saw him in the library the other day and got this weird sad, sinking feeling inside of me. I didn't realize that I was so attached--I don't think I ever let myself admit that I could be. I was supposed to be having "fun," being "carefree." But, I guess it wasn't just that. He was the first person who showed interest in that way, and I think I was just too self-abating to think that anyone could want me superficially. I thought I was one of those people "you had to get to know" before I could be attractive. So, naturally, stupidly, I thought he'd, well, "want to get to know." Eventually. And, I got too attached. Anyway, I now, no longer have his phone number. I can't accidentally scroll across his name when I'm trying to get to someone else. And, I think that's really good. I'm proud of myself for getting rid of it. I have a few things lying around that remind me of him and I might just have to get rid of them too. Or, I'll keep them to remind myself that it's okay to hang on a bit. But only for memories and not for sad, sinking feelings.

It's not really true that I can see people for momentary friendship. Ultimately, I am too sensitive, too conscious, too I don't know, to not care. Especially with people I really like or look up to--who often don't realize how much I miss them--it's those people that I let hurt me the most. But, it's also those people with whom I need to learn to let go.

The other day I met the guy who was trying to escape from the Reg. He shook my hand so hard I thought my ring was going to sever my middle finger from the rest of my hand. Or, at least that there would be a hole where the stone was digging into the finger's side.

Anyway, I couldn't understand his name. I had to ask for him to repeat it, and I still didn't get it. So, I just pretended that I understood. We met at an Athens party. He doesn't want to go to Athens. I kept trying to talk it up and explain to him what an amazing experience it was for me, but he wouldn't have any of it. I hope he gets over himself. I was thinking how we go through so many experiences waiting for them to be over, anticipating the future instead of relishing in the present and I'm not sure the point. When I tell my mom how busy I am and she says it's almost over it makes me really mad. I may be busy, I may be exhuasted, I may be lonely, but it's what it is and I don't mind. I know I have good days and I have bad days. But, I don't want to ever skip through something, for fear that I'll miss what's around me, just to get to something new. I wonder how much there is that I don't appreciate or don't notice simply because I'm too unhappy with my now--anxiously awaiting the "light" instead of appreciating the path that gets me there.

Something sad recently dawned upon me. I am not cute. I probably will never be cute, and, outside of being 3, I don't think I ever was. I'm not sure what it means to be "cute." But, I'm pretty sure I'd like to be that. Some people just embody cute. But, I don't think I do. I'm too (apparently and very superficially) self-assured and independent. I even have pink kitty-cat pj pants, and still, I don't think I'm cute.

I think cute is happy go-lucky, attractive in a simple, classic sort of way (not like a supermodel), giggly. I don't know what else. Small, I guess. But that's just the most obvious of the characteristics. And, I'm not sure that I'm really any of those things. PM (in the spirit of naming people) used to tell me I was cute. But I didn't (and don't) believe him. I think he had a screwy picture of who I was (am), anyway. He also used to say I was crazy. But that's only because I used to drink wine when I wasn't supposed to, or ask the waiter for a menu when he was too embarrassed, among other "crazy" things. It's not really because I was cute, or crazy, really. His comments should have made me feel special and connected. But, instead, they just made me feel more distant and alone.

Some things that people take so seriously, and believe, really crack me up.

1. Justice: I was just watching the news. Some guy was released after being found not guilty of rape charges. In his brief interview, he mentioned how now the public knows that he is innocent. If I had any ounce of faith in our justice system, I might find comfort in his conviction (or lack thereof). But I don't. I'm not saying he is, in fact, guilty. Rather, I just don't believe the guilt or innocence of someone simply based on a courtroom finding.

2. Politics: I'm not a very political person, but I do have opinions. The difference between me and most other people with opinions, though, is that I am pretty aware of the fact that what I think is simply that: what I think. It's not fact or true, necessarily. And no one has to agree with me. Where I work, I find it quite amusing the determination with which these people work. They are perfectly, 100% convinced that their political views are right (quite literally). That everyone else is wrong. And I just find that ridiculous. I don't agree with half the stuff they say--but who's to say that I'm wrong? We're both looking at the facts, right? Well, then why do we both see something so different?

2b. Conviction and faith: Again, as if anyone is really more right (or wrong) than anyone else. What makes people think that they know something more than someone else, anyway? Maybe they know something different, but who's to say what they know applies to anyone but themselves?

3. Patriotism: Where the heck do I even begin on this one...

4. Rich People: As if they're any different than anyone else.

5. People in power: See #4.