(I tried to post this last night, but my internet was acting up...turned out I had half-unplugged my internet cable when I pulled my keyboard to my lap [laughs])

Why is it that after I've written a long update blog, and I'm sitting around for a while, the desire to blog returns forcefully? Perhaps it's because my brain doesn't stop [laughs]. So, for anyone looking, this is not my "finally he blogged again!" blog. That's below this one. The 5 page one. You can't miss it. Maybe I'm just always dying for a good conversation. It's sad how on aim you always trail off or have to leave. There are rarely really good aim conversations that last for a long time, unless you haven't spoken recently, and when they do, they never end when they end. There is no Hang-Up-Goodbye for no reason other than the conversation is over. No, your window stays open, sort of hanging in midair, waiting for someone to think of something else to say. It's awkward, and pathetically hopeful, and depressing. I don't know, I'm tired and stupid, but still want to talk. About nothing. About anything. Aim is always the bottom of the attention totem pole. Anything else can so easily interrupt it. My brain hurts, and my eyes sometimes go dizzy. I'm probably going to need to start wearing my glasses whenever I'm in front of the computer. I don't know. I miss having friends I can talk to all the time. I hate sharing people. I know, blogger, I'm a selfish bastard underneath my selfless caring exterior. I want people all to myself when I'm talking to them, so I can talk to them, and they talk to me, and I don't have to deal with people talking to other people about things that they think don't interest me (because everything interests me if you think it's interesting), and I don't have to put up with being excluded, verbally or physically. When there are only two people, the orientation is always toward the other person. There's no over-the-middle-person's-shoulder awkwardness of 3 in a row; there's no someone-shifted-and-now-I'm-outside awkwardness of a circle of people; there's no best friend or significant other who gets dibs on the other person's attention. [sighs] I want to lie on my back in the grass, looking at the stars, talking to someone who is listening to me, listening to someone who is talking to me, lying in silence near someone who is as consciously aware of my presence as the stars we're looking at. I want non-verbal communication to mean something. I want to be talking to someone who is paying enough attention to notice my non-verbal communication, even if they don't understand it. I want to talk to someone that doesn't swim in the shallow waters when the deeper waters have already been opened to them. I know why people do it. Move too fast in relationships. Infidelity. It's because we all want so desperately to feel loved that we're willing to put up with crap in between those moments, willing to snatch those moments from whomever we can whenever we can, willing to lie to ourselves and others about our own feelings and others' feelings toward us. I have always felt most strongly the pull of friend-love, agape if you want, that feeling of being on the same wavelength with someone else. Some people feel most strongly the pull of eros, sexual attraction, or filia, that comfort that comes most naturally with family but is not exclusive to it. I say "we" do this and "we" do that because I'm a member of the human race. I am faithful to my beloved one, Grace. I remember her always. I do not act in ways I think will hurt her, and that is all I can do. Because even when one has a beloved, there will always be opportunities for moments in which to feel loved by someone else. That love is not what is wrong, but the actions that we feel compelled to do, those actions which we must have willpower and a sense of responsibility in order to not do. Of course the natural inclination is toward that joy of feeling loved! Oh foolish humanity, your fate was determined by your inability to resist the apple. Now we know pain and fear and death. Now we feel alone and directionless and dying. Now we desperately long for love and purpose and life. Now we desperately need balm and ease and rebirth. I am fortunate in my friends; in all honesty, it is they who save me when I do not wish to save myself, my safety net when I fall or leap. If you are struck by pangs of jealousy, know that I am yours, and they know it, and help me remain yours. I have no jealousy, for I wish for you anything in the world that makes you happy, even if it is that which I deny myself for you. If I eat of this bread, I shall hunger again. If I eat of the bread that you give me, I shall hunger no more. When I am with you, I am not hungry. When I am far from you, it is as if my stomach were empty and yet I am not hungry. I merely know that it is empty and desire to fill it. I'm sorry for my sacrilege. I have the entire english language, all the words in all possible orders, and yet it is those phrases which already have meaning that feel to me a better offering to you. ...other times there are no words that will mean what I want to say. I love you. I'm sorry blogger, but everyone should know, everyone who cares who I am should know what is important to me. I don't use this public journal because I'm an exhibitionist. I don't want all the strangers to know everything about me. I just want to be understood. I want to be able to speak about things and not be rejected, skimmed over, judged and thrown away. And I don't even know if anyone reads this except Grace and my mom. I don't see it in the way you speak to me. I don't see it in the way you act toward me. It's as if, having seen a great light, you close your eyes, put on sunglasses and walk around with a cane, feeling your way in self-imposed darkness, so as not to have to acknowledge it, so as not to acknowledge yourself or your relationship with me. I'm just another person. I'm just some guy you dance with, you drink with, you talk to now and then. Some guy you never tried to understand. What about your best friend, fellow blogger? What about your significant other? What about your parents? Your kids? Do you know them? Do you try to understand them when they reach out, desperately wanting to feel loved but unsure of what to say, to do? Or do you assume you know them, smile and close your eyes to the truth that you can help them to be happy, and aren't? I wish...[laughs] sometimes there are these little emails that go out, spam of sorts, saying to send this back if you are my friend, or send this to all the people you want to sleep with and see who sends it back, or send this out to everyone to show that you care about this thing, and if they send it back they care about it too. It's so much balony, because some people do them all, and some people (like myself) do none of them. It's like sending a birthday card without a note inside, just a signature. But maybe to some people they are meaningful. Some people actually fill out surveys about themselves wanting people to read them and know them, the way I blog my heart out here. They are usually such stupid questions, and the answers are like sprinkles atop icecream, flavorful but tasting them does not tell you what the icecream tastes like. I don't know. I've blogged too much and need to sleep. Just...don't forget that friends are supposed to be the people that care. I don't mean your friends caring about you; you can't change your stupid friends. I mean, you should care about them. Even if you don't care about me, even if you don't know me, I know you have friends, and you probably ought to be caring about them a little more than you are.