Identity

I feel different lately. Better. I think it started on my inner bits and worked its way to the outer bits. I'm more confident. I feel surer of everything. What did it is that I'm figuring out who I am. All it took was a bit of perspective development. I know my purpose now, and that makes everything easier. I know my identity, and I know my place, and I know where I want to go, and I have some idea how to get there. The best part is, even if I land a hundred miles away from my destination, I'll be satisfied because I already have the most important part, and the second-most important part isn't difficult to get.

I think the other thing that happened is that I'm getting to be a little more comfortable with myself. I'm getting more comfortable with my personal abilities and limitations, and I'm starting to figure out that I should try going in a different direction rather than continuing to beat my head on this brick wall. I mean, I've smashed my head into every freakin' part of that thing, and let me tell you, it will not budge for me. I can't think of any reason that would be worth continuing that struggle.

Furthermore, I'm working on scrounging together bits of class, here and there. In the past year I've changed looks and developed tastes. I'm teaching myself to speak correctly, move correctly, and think correctly.

Mind you, these things are all done by my own personal definition of “correct.” Society controls everything and I'd be naïve to think I'm unaffected, but I'm pulling together bits and pieces of society's standards and combining them with old standards and standards from other countries and other schools of thought to create something that's just personalized enough that I hope it strikes everyone as something that one does not often come across. Because, heaven help me, I do need to be unique. Not outrageously unique, but just different enough that I can easily see the line between “me” and “you.” And I never want to be one of “them.”

That's just about where my identity comes in. I'm pretty sure this identity, all on its own, helps a lot to make “me” different from “you.” I'm currently using it, almost actively, as a means by which to make sure that, though I may have recently joined the ranks of Usana Health Sciences, I will not ever be thought of, by myself or anyone else, as “one of those Usana people.”

With this identity comes responsibilities. If I turn you down or away without explaining why, then I'm probably just trying to fulfill my purpose in life. This thing takes a lot of commitment, and I can't always talk about it right out. Further responsibilities require that I be capable, fast, smart, strong, and prepared. When shit happens, I need to be able to shit right back at it. I need to have as much control over my life as possible, because preserving my own life is one of my new responsibilities as one who has this identity. In case you didn't follow that, it stands to reason that one's chances of preserving life increase with the amount of control over life. As such, in accordance with this responsibility, I need as much control as I can get. I hope you'll forgive me for repeating myself; it's an important point, partially because until about 19 months ago I didn't have a terribly solid reason for keeping myself alive.

But now I have a reason for everything important decision I make, and it makes these decisions so much easier. The whole world is an easier place when you have a cause. It doesn't even matter what your cause is, so long as you can put your whole self behind it.

I love Cleo.

Human Howling (based on true events)

        He loved her deeply, so he wanted to show her what he had found. Because he didn't make it up, he had indeed found this thing, had uncovered it like a fossil, slowly, carefully, piece by piece, bone by bone. Indeed, he did not know whether he had revealed the whole thing. But he was ready to show someone, and because he loved her he had decided that she would be the first to witness his discovery. 
        “So, are we going to the park tonight?” she asked. “Oh, thank you! It seems so important, but I keep forgetting.” They were in his father's silver hybrid, and had just left his house. She had to be home at ten tonight, which was okay with him because that meant the moon would be up by the time he started driving her home. The drive to her house was fairly short, not quite a full mile, but tonight they were making a stop. There was a small city park about halfway between them, about a block wide and two blocks long. Just a big grass field surrounded by trees, a basketball court, some picnic benches, restrooms, swing set, and your basic climbing structures. In itself, it wasn't all that much. But you could get a beautiful view of the rising moon if you stood in the right place, which was why it was important for him tonight.
        They made their way to the park, talking and laughing and being in love the whole way. They got there, and he parked in the street, just a few steps from the grass and trees, just a few steps from where he would show her. The grass formed a small hill as soon as you left the sidewalk, with trees at the crest, and then dipped down into the bowl of the grass field. He looked around, looked at the moon, looked for the perfect spot to do it. He had done this before, though at a different field under a different stand of trees, and he felt like he ought to be very particular about how he did this. 
        There was a problem, though. The reason he always did it in a dark field under a stand of trees was that he felt self-conscious about what he did, because he knew it might frighten some people, and if it didn't scare them then they still might not understand. The problem was, there were people here. It was almost ten o'clock at night and there were two groups of people, one a the picnic benches and one walking down a path that led to the sidewalk. Worse yet, the field wasn't dark. There were lights over the sidewalk, and there were more lights over by the basketball court. Anyone who looked at them would at least see an outline of someone there, and he preferred to be as hidden as possible. If he was going to scare people, he wanted to really scare them. He didn't want to let them write it off as some crazy kid, and he felt that if they could connect the voice with a body it would be too easy for them to do that. He didn't want people to run away when they heard him, but he wanted them to stop what they were doing to listen. Because what he was saying was important. 
        He could say it with her there, though. Because he trusted her to listen and take it seriously. 
        “Aw, crap. I can't do it with people around. They can see me, and that'll make me feel weird about it.” “Umm, maybe if you were under the trees here?” “That might work. Hm. Let's wait until these people are gone, though.” They stood and waited for the group on the path, who looked like they were about to leave. It took so long it felt like the departing party were crawling on their stomachs. 
        After they had turned the corner and walked out of sight there was only the other group by the tables, and they looked like they had a fire going in one of those disgusting barbecue pits they always have in parks like this. They seemed far away, and if he stood beneath the trees it would be harder for them to see him. “I think I can do it now.” 
        He found a good shadowy place, but one where he could see the moon without any branches in the way. Because to do this, he needed a direct link to the moon. He had to be able to clearly hear what the moon told him so that he could translate it for everyone else to hear. He found his place, and stood there, staring at the moon. Waiting. 
        It's like one of those devices that are supposed to help us communicate with the dead. It draws you along the line of performing the action versus having the action performed through you. The way some people write, some people play music, some people play sports, some people fight and kill. This is what I do instead of those things. I laugh. 
        He felt the cars behind him, driving past. They weren't a distraction as he thought they might have been. On the contrary, he wished a whole succession of them would go past at once, since their noise seemed to push him towards it. He kept staring at the moon, but blinking. It would take some time, and he couldn't afford to let discomfort distract him. Then one more car drove by, and it came out of him.
        He laughed. It wasn't polite. It wasn't quiet. He laughed. It wasn't happy. It wasn't good-natured. He laughed. It wasn't silly, it wasn't fun. He laughed. It wasn't cruel. It wasn't mean. He laughed.
        One hears wolf howls all the time, even if one does not live with them. Thanks to television, we can hear all sorts of things. And if one goes to the right places, one can hear humans trying to imitate that noise, often out of silliness. But anyone who has heard one will tell you that a wolf's howl is not silly. The reason we have to be silly to make that noise is that it isn't a human noise. Laughter is a very human noise. What he let loose was humankind's response to a wolf's howl. He laughed.
        What's so funny? Everything, man. Everything.
        When he was done, he stood for a moment and realized she was watching him. He could feel her looking at him, and that look understood what he had just finished saying. That was good. If she could understand what his laugh had meant, then he knew he loved exactly the right woman. She came to him and he pulled her against him and found her mouth. The passion felt new, like freshly mined ore. Raw, uncut, unpolished. The kind of stuff that reminds people why they're married, only they weren't yet.
        When the flames died down a bit, he led her back to the car.
        She said, “Wanted to join in, but I didn't know how.”
        “I kind of hoped and thought you would. I wouldn't worry about knowing how, dear. I think you could figure it out. Maybe next time you can join me. I think it would sound even better with two.”

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