On hedgehogs

For someone who styles himself a writer, it's interesting how I can dance around the topic so much. Or that so often, I can't seem to express precisely what it is I want to say, and I end up engaging in a huge amount of intellectual waffling before either coming out with an answer or dribbling away into nothingness. It's like my mind is some big metaphysical cow that has to chew an idea for fourteen hours before finally either realizing what it's trying to digest, or just packing it away to become psychic compost. (At least I feed lots of astral flowers.)

Some days...some days I feel positively inhuman, in the sense of being distanced from humanity. In some ways, it's a carryover from my childhood, and on those days I feel like...well, I don't really feel at all. It's like all my emotions are inside this tightly crushed up little piece of paper, surrounded by an utterly impenetrable iron shell. Then I draw a smiley face, tape it to the ball, and it's business as usual. In that way that I do, (and I'm quite aware that it's a way of mine) I say it's all part of being Chinese, when I think it's really just all part of being me. I am exceptionally good at compacting everything into a neat little package that can be locked behind a big metal door (or doors), and then going about as happy and as charming as usual. In spite of everything I write here, I really am quite good at not letting it show when something is bothering me. Or not letting what I'm really thinking surface. Or not letting it show when I'm really completely, utterly indifferent to everything that's going on around me. That's actually a little scary, sometimes - I imagine that serial killers probably do exactly the same thing.

Wow...that sure killed the mood. (Pun intended.)

I always found it kind of funny that to say someone "isn't human," is always meant to imply a certain monstrous aspect, or a lack of emotion or empathy. Yet, when you get right down to it, being human can be being quite monstrous. Humans are by nature egocentric creatures - in fact, child psychology suggests that until a certain age, we are completely incapable of empathy. Isn't that funny? Children are the innocent and the pure, and until they pass that magical age of roughly 4-5 years, they'll happily dissect a family of rabbits simply because they're curious what they look like on the inside. It's a monstrous thing, and yet it's also not, because the child doesn't know any better. Until they're told or otherwise informed that it's wrong, it's simply not wong. But I'm sure that's of little comfort to the family of rabbits. And, of course, there are people who would happily dissect a family of rabbits even though they were told it's wrong, but they really don't care. Or because whatever positives they might derive out of the experience outweigh the negatives. There are monstrous people out there, but they're as human as any of us. Then again, there are some marvelously good people out there, but they're as human as any of us as well. How are such dualistic creatures possible?

That's actually a bit outside the hula hoop, because that's not how I feel today. There's something called the Hedgehog's Dilemma, which in its literal aspect is of course completely malarky, but illustrates a point well enough. The idea is that the hedgehog suffers pangs of loneliness, but two of them trying to come closer will only hurt each other. The hedgehog thus has a choice between remaining lonely, and allowing someone close enough to get hurt. This is a notable point, because in all of New York City there have been exactly two people close enough to me to know what I might be thinking at any given time. One of them is no longer here, and I feel her absence daily.

Of course, she would never allow me to wallow like I'm doing now - she was always exceptionally good at kicking my ass into proper order. What would she say to what I'm writing right now, I wonder?

"G, you're being ridiculous. You're an emotional fucktard sometimes, but you're certainly not inhuman. You're just finding an excuse for waffling around, like you always do. You like things being easy and safe, all packaged up with this neat little bow, and honey, they're just not. You're never going to grow as a person if you stay inside your comfort zone! You know what I think it is? I think you just need to get laid."

Ahhhh...Jiiiiiesus. In front of an audience you say this to me?

"I'm sorry, but it's true! Every time I see you you're like this big...ball of sexual frustration. It drives me boooonkers! Listen, next time I'm in New York, we'll grab Darien and go down to some bars in Chelsea. You can pick someone up and have some wild monkey sex, and you'll feel much better."

Ugh. But I hate casual sex.

"Pish. Pish! We're going, and that's that!"

But-

"Pish!"

Wow. Not even here and she's still managed to hijack the conversation. Well, there you have it, folks. She sure gets right to the point, doesn't she?

Heh. I was hurting when I woke up this morning - I was really feeling the horrendous solitude of living alone in New York City, and I all ready to be gloomy and angsty today. Now...well, now I feel a lot better. Isn't it wonderful to be loved?