You think you know me. We are around each other a bit, talk occasionally, and share meals every once in awhile, yes. You've talked about yourself, yes. The funny part is that you think you know me. I've even heard you say so. I've sat quietly, somewhat smugly, as you've told others, "_____ is (insert adjective)," or, "_____ likes stuff like that." I find it all rather amusing; a bit disappointing, perhaps, but mainly amusing.

See, the fact is that you don't really know anything about me. I have a history, I have a (rather complex) personality, I have a specific set of beliefs that I'm still working out, and you haven't a clue about any of it. Why? You haven't asked. You'd consider me a friend, and, if asked, I would return the consideration, but the definition is fairly loose.

What people have to do in order to "know" someone else is becoming less and less involved as our society becomes more and more impersonal, and that's a shame. As a result, comparatively few people are aware of how much they're unaware of. This is how suicidal people slip by; this is how people are neglected to the point that one day they simply snap and become (partially, at least) responsible for what are later termed "great tragedies." This modern lack of personal care is why many people today have such a hard time grasping any concept of the love of God.

I could be a repressed sociopath who needs someone to set him straight on a few things. I could be one of the best listeners and most loyal companions that you could ever hope for. You may never know. You'll never know unless you ask. Next time, don't assume a few group-oriented mealtime conversations or brief hallway encounters endow you with the ability to see deep within my mind, soul, or life. Trust me, they don't.

I exist in more than three dimensions, and I don't mind letting you in on the others. Just ask.

a brief and terribly undescriptive return - 10.28.04
- - 09.17.04
- - 08.16.04
- - 08.13.04
- - 07.30.04