Interface

I’ve always believed that people are fundamentally separate.  I envision us as tiny pilots in our own skulls, desperately slamming buttons and pulling levers to make our bodies walk and talk and touch.  I try to tell people about the fact that I live in my head.  Before I can say “and I think you do, too,” they start giving advice on how to “get out” and “live.”  I don’t know how to talk about it without someone hearing “please help me” instead.  I don’t know why it sounds like an insult to be in your head.  I love my head.  It’s where my brain is.

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Dear Person at the Party

Fun party, right? I said, FUN PARTY, RIGHT? Sorry, did you say something? I can’t – I SAID I CAN’T HEAR YOU! Fuck, this music is loud. Wanna head out for a smoke? I SAID – fuckin’ Christ… *Shakes cigarette pack, gestures toward door*

Ah, that’s better. So uh, this is officially the part where I run out of things to say. I think you’re cute, or at least find you interesting in some way. I wouldn’t have bothered to bring you out here, otherwise. Do I look interested? I’m trying to look interested. I mean, I AM interested, but I’d sound like a crazy person if I just turned to you and said “I’m interested,” right? So I have to LOOK interested. Without looking, you know, INTERESTED. With emphasis.

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