I wish my views on the world were slightly more like my views on people. You ask me about a person, or give me the chance to talk, and I'll tell you the most prevalent, relevant, and readily available opinion I have. I don't believe that I am right, but I believe that I am as close to right as I can be.

I walk up to you and drop a gem into your hand, a gem with a tiny fleck of gold at the center. You look through one face closely enough, and you think you see the heart. You twist it, roll it in your hand, expose it to a different light, and the heart seems different. In our subtle arrogance we think perhaps the center has changed, that the world has rearranged itself before our eyes. We look again, and another miracle occurs, and another, and another, but the simple fact is that nothing is different. The core remains the same, but by the moment it can seem alien in our eyes.

Day by day, I try to consider as many facets as possible, as many angles of approach to view a person. I know for a fact that I will never get it just right, but it's the quest that counts.

To that point, consider this quote, which I borrow from the best show ever:
If I take a lamp and shine it toward the wall, a bright spot will appear on the wall. The lamp is our search for truth ... for understanding. Too often, we assume that the light on the wall is God, but the light is not the goal of the search, it is the result of the search. The more intense the search, the brighter the light on the wall. The brighter the light on the wall, the greater the sense of revelation upon seeing it. Similarly, someone who does not search, who does not bring a lantern, sees nothing.

Two weeks ago, I think the light I shined to the world went dim. I've been very foolish lately, very arrogant in my stubbornness, my refusal to see that which would be obvious to anyone but myself. I've been well, because I am surrounded by kindness. I am not afraid, but I assume. I am used to assuming bad things because bad things, sugar coated though as they may be, are what I remember.

We notice little things, but remember big things. I said that to someone recently.

We measure history by wars, because it is easy to forget the peace in between. The greatest agony of life is that our pain can make us forget our joy.

I am sorry for ever forgetting your joy.

This hell of frustration is slowly receding, thanks to a close friend. Certain parts of this self-inflicted nonsense aren't going to leave me alone for a good long while, paranoias that grew too deeply. The world as I view it is tainted, poisoned more and more each time the chains binding my perceptions are loosened, if even just for four or five nerve-wracking days.

I might have died on my run last week. I would have left this place misunderstood, unknown. Some might have missed me for a shadow of the person I actually am, but I can't answer questions if I am not asked. I try to tell as much about the way I actually am on this ridiculous blog. I avoid specifics because they are misunderstood, and I don't have the time or energy to give every detail of my life to this sea of electrons that we invented to make ourselves feel small and dependent. I do, however, give plenty enough to formulate questions.

I'm rambling. Sorry.

The point is, I'm willing to answer those few questions that make their way to me. Ask. Expect honesty; I think anyone who goes through the apparently great trouble of questioning what I'm thinking, or what I want, or what I'm doing more than deserves it.

Maybe I'm predictable enough that nobody needs anything to figure me out. Good for you. For the rest, think of a few times that you've nailed me precisely without asking: a few times among all the nightmare hours, days, and weeks that I've had because of misunderstandings. All I end up thinking of otherwise is that I'm not worth the trouble, which only leads to more paranoia, more aggrivation.

*sigh*

I had an otherwise good weekend. I listened to Guster. I watched Babylon 5. I played my trumpet, and I sang. I read my SA forum. I went to HHN again, and the lines were nice. I saw the Transporter, which had no plot but excellent fight coreography. I climbed the rock wall. I went for three five-mile runs. My burn healed. I played Celebrity.

Life is good. It's the moments in between that kinda suck. Take care.

I am freaking tired.

Christopher Franke is my hero.

edit: I have a lot of thinking to do.

I'm going to go for another run.