it's 12:35 am, on February 11, 2002 - secrets.
~
I have a confession to make. --that's a phrase I use a lot. But okay, so anyway.
I have a confession to make. I love hearing people's secrets.
Someone starts saying, "I am [insert something here]" or, "I really think that I feel [suchandsuch a way]" or whatever, I get giddy. I don't know if it's the gossip in me, or the aspiring telepath. I love people's secrets. I love people's inner thoughts about themselves.
Also, my neck hurts.
Two people reminded me that I love hearing people's secrets today, because they kind of, kind of started telling me some of theirs. There are words that set off buzzers in my brain, like, "I'm feeling maudlin," or, "sorry to babble like--" and then I get a little giddy, and I start to perk up, thinking 'secrets? someone's letting me know something about themselves?'
It's all about me.
--I said that, to Rae, the other day, and she answered, "you laugh but it's true." And that stuck with me, the same way Mel saying, "you're really paranoid about that, aren't you?" stuck with me, and "why do you ask about my day if you don't want to know?" stuck with me. It's.
Sometimes, I wonder. Should I feel worse for being self centered, and then I wonder, should I feel guilty for wanting to be something that I'm not, and then I wonder whether I should feel guilty for being guilty. It's this viscious cycle that really doesn't get anything done, and really doesn't make me feel any worse. But it does justify the behavior, some, because I have *thought* about it even if I haven't *done* anything about it. Which is really a half-assed way of getting out of doing good.
Yeah, but, I don't feel guilty, and I feel guilty about that.
...that went very far off the track of secrets. Another thing. Secrets are the things I'm jealous of. See, a secret is something I'm not a part of. Anything else, I'm present, at least, somewhat, but a secret? That's not something I can worm my way into the middle of.
I'm ending a lot of sentences with "of" tonight. And I think, I think, "join the club" is still fucking with my head, even months later. I mean, that "they have no idea". They. I mean. Yeah. They don't.
~*~
Lance ignores him, too, and curls up on the couch and sips from his mug. Black, unsweetened--this is also one of the signs you recognise. Lance has overdosed on closeness, and retreated into his own head for a few days.
The breeze blows, and Joey stands up. "I'll get him."
"Why don't you get him?" you ask Chris suddenly, and Chris looks at you weirdly.
"Because I'm sitting down, Poptart."
"So was Joey."
"But I'm done with breakfast," Joey says, as if that's the reason. There's still half-eaten toast on his plate, and his coffee mug is nearly full.
They have no idea, you think. None at all. But all the eddies and swirls in the room say JC's in the mood to fuck, and Joey's gonna let him do it until Chris makes a pass at Lance and is rejected, and then the breeze will blow again, and they'll drift back into their usual shape.
So, you realise, it's no accident that you can't get over their bridges. Like a wall that thickens wherever the most pressure is applied, like a bird that flies off as soon as you reach for it, they rearrange unconsiously at the first sign of threat. And you're a threat, that's obvious, because otherwise the magic castle would let you in. And Lance is right, you realise, about cause and effect. The magic castle isn't something that evolved to protect them. It's where they evolved; it's the reason for their existence.
Lance is the reason they don't do threesomes or foursomes or watch, and with a sudden jolt of guilt, or maybe power, you know you're the reason Lance's too-much trigger has been tripped.
"You're thinking deep thoughts," JC says, and you notice him sitting on a chair beside you. He's definitely in a fucking mood, he reeks of wanting to fuck, and he leans over and kisses you with intent, but the breeze blows Lance a little further away, and JC stops.
~
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