“insecure censoring is for suckers.”
last night i wrote the above line in an email to a new friend. when you meet a new friend, you have the opportunity to pick and choose how and when to present what you want this new person to know about you, theoretically. in reality, the new friend picks up on subtle nuances and hidden traits and sly characteristics and potential character defects that you don’t know you are signaling, that you may not even know you posses. this new friend of mine, he’s perceptive. i watched him watch me, observed him learning about me. he’s quicker than most. smarter, too–but more importantly, he’s quicker. i learned this about him by watching him. i hugged him before i knew him. i hugged on him all night. i’ve got a huggy soul and his soul needed some hugging last night. we could all use more hugs most days, and he didn’t mind that i was sweaty from dancing my heart on the floor.
i left the club early last night. i left before the band finished playing. i left before i talked to the one person i came to see. i left without saying goodbye to anyone except my new friend and his roommate. i left because i wanted to be alone, to converse with myself, to see what i had to say. as soon as i started the car, i began a mental conversation with this new friend. i felt like i was eavesdropping on a future deja vu exchange. i noted the irony that i had just left his side, that i could be having this conversation with him in real life, except that it would never happen that way. it takes a long while of knowing someone for me to talk to people in real life the way i converse with them in my head. i’m awkward in person. maybe i don’t seem awkward to you, but i feel awkward compared to my ease of being alone. i am astounded by my preference for aloneness. i love many people very much, but 90% of the time, i’d rather be alone. the 10% of the time i’m with other people, i don’t necessarily want to talk. i’d rather listen. i’d rather dance. i’d rather play pool. i’d rather walk. i’d rather just hug you.