after some ceiling gazing, and one of those long baths where the water finally gets cold and you're forced out of the tub, i went out with the housemates. i thought about staying about and thinking more about this morning. this movement i have to make in my own mind from thinking i know my love to knowing that i don't. i decided against the thinking and went out for witty conversation and gin and tonics instead. it was the right thing for me. we laughed and chatted and told wide-eyed gossipy tales. peels of laughters and walking around downtown portland, past tacky rug boutiques and homeless people, made me feel less like a heart-failure patient. but i don't think i need to write about all of the things in my heart right now; it makes for depressing, if not utterly cliched reading. i'll save it for my "art" and my "writing."

tomorrow i think i study with the boy (man) i met in my chemistry class. he's 31 and viciously bald. one of the first things he let me know about himself was that he was completely broke and never went anyplace. i replied, "not exactly a smooth way to ask me out for dinner guy," his neck turned red and he stammered for a while for a while before i rescued the conversation. he recovered though and later asked me to be his study pardner. i think one of his eyes is lazy, but an awfully pretty shade of green, and he tells stories in a halting, self-conscious way that's endearing. i do like meeting characters; the conversation is always interesting and goes places you can't plan and their funny mannerisms captivate me. of course, i leave for new york tuesday, so i think we'll only hang out once. that's enough though. short chance meetings with anyone are usually preferable to getting to know someone and having to deal with...more. just more. not even in a boy-girl sense, but generally. people stick around long enough and there's always more. i prefer people to stay far enough away from me that i can maintain some semblance of internal balance. when people start encroching on that, i get nervous and act strangely. i think i'm more myself when i meet someone for the first time than i am a year later, but that might be completely untrue. my cousin did tell me that i hold my cards close to my chest. and it's true. there's no reason to let people in on your private game. we're here by our lonesomes and we die by our lonesomes and everyone in between is just a snap of the fingers. well, some people get two or three snaps. but the only thing i have that's permanent, i find, is myself; if i didnt keep some of it for myself, myself alone, i would feel adrift. like i'd lost something.

but i've known this about myself since i was 12. i have journal entries from middle school and highschool that consistently repeat the same message: always keep part of yourself secret and thus safe. people who let anyone in and people who can let everything out are faded and washed out. everyone having taking something from them, freely given or not. somehow, there is strength there. in knowing that no one else can ever reach a part of you. it stays unsullied by the world and people's anger and judgment and just plain bullshit. it almost looks like i've turned it into a stance for myself. i haven't, really; i just haven't seen the merits of the alternatives yet.

okay, i'm wandering upstairs to read. and to spend time willing my back not to hurt. it feels like a springky (that toy, that goes down stairs?) has replaced my spinal cord and all my back muscles are wound through it. not a nice visual. really not a nice feeling.