Fits of socializing

This is probably the best way to describe my disorder, if it is one. Yesterday I was alone all day, which was a little depressing. It's very strange. Some days I crave the hermits life and would want it no other way, at least for a while, but other days I need, really need to do something with others. To be set free from my whirling thoughts. But, too much of that gives me a headache. So, there needs to be a balance, a median between the two extremes.

Also, I find it easy to talk to someone who I haven't seen in a while or just met. I can listen to them with great interest, relay feedback, enjoy their company and learn a bit of something. But, when I see them again I feel I am a different person. As I walk forward, the strawman I erected has blown away, revealing my twigs bound with yarn, awkwardly reaching out for a handshake*. It just doesn't feel like me anymore, at least not the me I displayed for them at first. I know I'll let them down, so why do I continually act as I am not when first meeting someone? Would it not be easier to act as I am, not as I want to be and cut the crap? If they like me, great! They can chose to learn more about me if they like. I'm not on display for your appetite. I'm an acquired taste and that's the way I like it! But, this may be a bit too hardshelled.

For example: It seems that when on an airplane, everyone, even the seasoned flyer who dares to inch his seat back and is utterly undistracted by the takeoff, even he has death somewhere close in their mind. Because of this, those that are socialites are frenetically eager to share their mind and those who are tired and withdrawn seek to bury their heads as far as humanly possible into the headrest and make absolutely no eyecontact or possible gestures of life, thus fofeiting their on board nuts and drink for blessed solitude.

It is during this time, when the O2 is pumping I almost inevitable engage or am engaged in some sort of conversation with the person next to me. At first it begins a little jerky, but when you slip into second, the words that come out of your mouth seem to be almost reactionary. Both our legs are swung over aisle armrest, each tapping the other with little hammers, anticipating a reflex. Most of the time, the other does the tapping, though. I can listen for a long time, feigning interest, sometimes even fooling myself. Somewhere near the beggining and nearing the end of the flight one of us bluntly asks where the other is going and makes some comment about the distance or some city we thought was in the state. They are never near that city. Finally, the conversation goes into rigormortis as the plane lands and we shake hands, force a smile, grab our bags and hope to high heaven we won't see each other outside of the plane.

So anyway, there's a few metaphors amongst jumbled text. I like metaphors. It seems that the only way I can understand things is through a visual connection with another thing. A kind of parable needs to be constructed for me to click.

Interesting, I looked up "metaphor" on Wikipedia and the word can also mean 'to transport or transfer'. So in a way, the meaning is being transported to another area of life with the result being enlightenment in both the original location and the destination. If this transportation continues, more areas become linked together, forming a web of connected ideas which can be drawn upon. Very cool! This is the way I believe great artists have worked including Terry Gilliam, Lautrec, and more scatter-brained artisans. Walker Percy seems to work this way too, as does Lewis. Syntopical discussions. Connections. Relations. Poetic metaphors. Okay. Loss of words, except for...neat.

On a lighter note: Have you ever had runny eggs and sausage on a paper towel? It keeps you moving!



*(I wish I could draw that or better yet film it, perhaps not a strawman but the flesh and gorey sinews all melting off to reveal the real individual, the soul. Perhaps too graphic, but necessary?)