I think the problem with

knowing people is that they then know you.

Part of  me loves it because it makes me feel existent and validated in that existence - but part of me will always resent being tethered to things; to people.

Part of me will never ever want to stop moving.

Part of me doesn’t want to be translatable, condensable, “gettable”.

Part of me believes I’m too different for that.

And part of me feels indelibly attached and invested in everyone and everything - past, present, and future.

Sometimes I’m amased by my capacity to feel. For how sensitive I am.

A couple days ago I sat in my bed for hours watching King of the Hill while coughing up a lung on Skype with one of my friends that lives a bajillion miles away and then went out and spent time with my family for my brother's birthday. After I left that experience I came home and read a text message from my best friend that made me laugh until I wept. These are things that would have killed the younger, sassier, cooler, (uncooler?) version of myself because the younger, sassier, cooler, (uncooler?) version of myself would have never stayed at home watching King of the Hill on Skype, spend time with family, and then came back home for the night all in one day. Not once. Not after the age of 11. But I was happy about today.

And what’s strange about this is that all of the people I interacted with today are people I feel like know me well  - and maybe not necessarily “My favourite colour is ___”, but they have their fingers on the pulse of what I’m doing here on this crazy planet. Sometimes moreso than I do.

Part of me loves that. Part of me thinks it’s cool that when I go to doodle on the whiteboard, people know what will be drawn and (more or less) written.

Part of me resents it. Part of me hates that I could be so predictable. It makes these things that I do, these things that I am, feel like cards. Cards in a hand I have.

Out of all of the things in the world I could do - people KNOW that I will do what I do. I am a creature of habit. There are patterns in my behaviour. I am predictable. Like a rainstorm. I am a matter of fact.

And at the same time these things, these me-isms, are the most meaningful things in the world to me. They ARE me. In the case of Me vs. everyone else, they are my evidentiary support. I am not them. I am me.

And we struggle with this, late at night.

We struggle with this and we fight sleep.

We fight sleep like the plague, because who knows when the bomb in your cells will go off.

What a conund-fest. Am I wrong?