&#034It&#039s a proud moment. I just feel so squishy inside. Some say it&#039s the organs; I say it&#039s all the warped love I feel for the world around me.&#034 -Erin Doyle

You know what? I&#039m weird. I mean, this really should come as no surprise to me or to anyone who really knows me, or well, even to people who only slightly know me, but well, I&#039m weird. I often forget just how weird I am because well, I live with myself and am in my brain all of the time whereas most people get glimpses into my mind only occasionally. However, if/when people get those glimpses, it is their reaction that clues me into the fact that I&#039m weird. Like when I open my mouth to speak and immediately get my speaking privileges revoked, or when I express my opinion on something and just get a blank stare and a shake of the head… I mean, it&#039s starting to clue me into the fact that I&#039m weird because people think I am.

Going by my main man Sartre who insisted in his play &#034Huis Clos&#034 (&#034No Exit&#034) that &#034L&#039enfer c&#039est les autres&#034 (&#034Hell is other people&#034), we really are what other people view us as whether we like it or not. (It&#039s when we don&#039t like it that makes people a living hell because they torment us with what they believe and what we don&#039t believe about ourselves.) Regardless of what I think about myself or how I think I am around other people, it really is in the label given to me by those around me–those who interact with me–that I exist. Just because I think I am normal does not make me normal. If everyone in the world sees me as a freak, then that is what I am regardless of my own opinion on the matter. What I think doesn&#039t matter because what I think is not how I am seen. I can even try to convince other people that I&#039m not a freak, that I&#039m normal, but because of my actions, because of my words and how I choose to express myself, my thoughts matter not, and it is through the opinion of others that I am defined.

True, my actions and words influence what other people think about me, but my thoughts do not. No one can read my thoughts just like I cannot read the thoughts of others. If I see someone in the streets push a woman down and take her purse, I am going to think him a thief even if he is just doing it because his kid needs medicine. I won&#039t see him as a caring father or as a factory worker or as a son because the only interaction I have with him is in seeing him rob someone, hence the label of &#034thief&#034 even if he does not view himself that way.

Because of my blunt nature, because of my creativity and uniqueness, because of my up-bringing and education, I choose to act in certain ways, in certain fashions and with certain behaviors. When other people see my behavior, they label me. They use what little (or even a lot of) experience they have with me and come up with their understanding of my personality, of who I am, and they put a name to me, categorize me in their network of human personality types. That label just happens to be &#034weird&#034 in my case. It&#039s an interesting thought, one that I often ponder.

Another question is, can this label be changed? Can I change my behavior and alter the way people think about me, change their labels for me? I say: possibly. I suppose it all depends on how people viewed me beforehand and what behaviors I change to. If people saw me as a good-natured person and then I started punching everyone I see, they will probably change their labels from &#034nice&#034 to &#034nasty.&#034 If people saw me as a mean-spirited old hag but I suddenly started handing out chocolates, they might raise their opinions of me slightly, but like my other man Nietzsche said, &#034What upsets me is not that you lied to me, but that I can never trust you again.&#034 You know, that kind of deal.

Oh well, you know, I&#039m not even sure I know why I&#039m rambling on like this. My head is starting to spin again, and my stomach is beginning to roll from side to side like I&#039m seasick. I&#039m going to leave the computer now and hope that getting away from a monitor in this hot room will stop the sudden urge to faint. Damned period.

Posted: June 24, 2004 at uh, something after three in the afternoon or so.