there are so many stories in all of us. i think sometimes we are afraid to tell them for fear of sounding trite, for the fear that when someone else fails to take out of a story what we put into it it is somehow invalidated. or maybe that's just me, i don't really know.

it's really difficult to know the difference between what is 'just me' and what is not, because i am me, and no matter how much i try to contain it, this 'meishness' is a constant and pervasive influence in everything i think, produce, am. so i find my best recourse is just to acknowledge it, remind myself always that much of what i think to be clear and obvious is shaded by an intense me-ness that happens to be invisible to me, just because i am me.

hm, glad that's established.

so, back to stories... im getting too tired to tell any great ones tonight, but before it's gone, i should note this interesting little tangent that has been going on somewhere in the back of my brain while i'm trying to write. understanding. we all want to be 'understood' so badly, and i'm not sure i get it. it's such a pivotal moment when you believe someone understands you, and such a blow when it first dawns on you that they don't. i have some other thoughts on people understanding one another, like that it's impossible, but that's for another night. for now, just wonder why we're all seeking, or at least think we're seeking, to be understood. and what is that really, i mean, where does the word come from... is it really from under and stand, and then is it supposed to be some kind of support? that validation?