mainsqueeze's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- where is my mind? Harold is coming to see me in two weeks, and I am utterly petrified. I'm bad with meeting people, even worse than I am at replying to emails and returning phone calls and holding conversations. I suspect that I'm really a huge jerk, no matter how much I try to fight it. It's impossible for me to speak to somebody in person for more than a few minutes unless I'd like to go to bed with them. I hate myself for it, I really, really do. I wish I was the sort of person that loved to hear different points of view, and stories, and how everybody feels about everything, but I'm not. I don't. Crystal and I, when we're together, don't talk much. We play games and make things and hug each other, but we do it silently. She understands how much I loathe listening and responding and making up fun things to say. People seem to think, though, that I love hearing them speak, and so they spill their guts and tell me their secrets and their life stories. I never pay attention. I study their faces and their hairdos and the way they move their hands, and when they're done, I say, "Oh, yeah. I know. I know." Maybe I should work on that. I could listen, if I wanted to, but I just don't. Does that make me a terrible person? Where was I going with all of this? 5:12 p.m. - 2003-02-06 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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