what?

Isn't it weird how you can choose to portray yourself? Even in saying, "let me tell you about point A but not point B." by mentioning point B, you've revealed something about yourself: the fact that you think of it, the fact that you're choosing not to share it is just as indicative of you as whatever point A was. but let's say you refrained from talking about point B, you didn't even indicate there ever was a point B. unknown unknowns. that sounds obvious and maybe that doesn't make sense. it's an argument that follows the brain-twisting that is "the concept of nothing is something."

...why did I write that paragraph? Oh, I think it was stream-of-consciousness spiel that came from me intending to write this blog post about guardedness.

(this post will probably get deleted in the future when I realize what I have done)

when I was reading other blog posts, I realized that I really appreciate those posts where people share about themselves. perhaps it's an artificial sense of closer (and ha but the irony gods would have a cackle at me feeling that sense when it's me who rants about hating facebook), but hey isn't that tied into the experiencing of (a nonexistent objective) reality? for it's how the feeling engenders a response in you, emotional or action-wise, that counts.

well I realize that my blog is mostly about what i've witnessed, or some interesting fact of life I've noticed, or some weird thought my brain has cooked up. I don't write about me, really. I think that the closest i've come to writing in here candidly about me was that one little bit about not believing in love and the archived post about Bloomability. maybe that's because I feel that many of the intrinsic things about me come from things I don't know how to start talking about, or if I can (this sentence being a perfect example of what I was getting at with points A and B). then again, maybe that's a false attribution to which I cling--how strongly after all are we shaped by our childhoods?

Sometimes I feel like a paradox because truly, I want to let people in and I do like to talk to others but I always, always maintain a distance. I'm not sure if this is apparent. But I'm very rarely unguarded. Sometimes I feel like I've got my walls up so good and high now even I don't know when they come down. The walls are forty feet thick and made of super extra strength unobtanium (where I'm taking its theoretical value to be in durability and not for example, in softest metal to make conducting blankets out of, or best original name/idea) yet sometimes strangely susceptible to letting painful things pass through. You'd think that with walls like that it'd never get hurt but maybe what i've done is just made it lonely. Poor heart.

And on the other hand, maybe I'm just in a dramatic mood.