Really, we are all stocked up here.

I have a lot of flaws. Luckily, I can count having a fairly accurate awareness of those flaws among my strengths. Despite all the wrongs I might commit, I certainly can't be accused of living an unexamined life.

When I look for friends or lovers, I seek two things. The first is a kind of complementariness - their possession of an ability, body of knowledge, or attribute that I lack but find valuable, whether it's one I have no interest in learning or can simply never possess. Second, I want them to have something that I lack, but want to (and can) learn. The more of these qualities they have, the more enthralled with them I become, because in my experience it's been rare to find people who can (and are willing to) teach me something Important. I want to be proud of the people I associate myself with; I don't want to feel like I'm the only one who has something to offer.

Among the things I bring to the table: an ability to see things rationally (even if I subsequently choose to let my emotions dictate my behavior). This has caused me no small amount of pain: guilt when I act irrationally... sometimes, sorrow at the limit and ultimate meaninglessness of my life. Because, no, my rational mind won't let me believe in an invisible, unproven, conscious being that directs the universe.

Sometimes I get lost in that sorrow. The hopelessness overwhelms me, and my brain takes steps to avert destruction. My mind puts its fingers in its ears against rationality, humming wildly to block out its harsh voice. And in those moments of weakness, I tell myself there is a beneficent force out there who hears my thoughts, and who uses strife to test my worthiness for some post-life accommodation. Later I recognize these episodes as a lapse in judgment: a temporary dissolution into hopeful, but ultimately false, weakness.

Then I realize - the fleeting weakness and fear I despise in myself - some people live their whole lives wallowing in that despair. They can be found wasting hours in prayer, services, and rituals practiced for centuries, not because they find the exercises useful on a practical level, but to attempt to earn currency for a world beyond this one. They can be found denying themselves the pleasures found in life, not for the enjoyment of anticipation, but because a set of rules thousands of years old forbids them. They are able to keep an impenetrable shield between the part of their brain that involves proof and logic in the formation of beliefs and the part that holds all the wild, unsubstantiated "faith."

It's a weakness, and I've never really seen it acknowledged as such. In fact, I've only seen it heralded as a virtue. I've even congratulated others, in my weak moments, on their faith. Even now I understand how it's easier to have it than not. At times I wish I were less smart, so I wouldn't recognize this particular contradiction that so many can unthinkingly accept.

But at the end of the day, I can't respect someone who consistently finds refuge in the lazy, comfortable doublethink of religious thought. To me, it's a reality denial worth pitying, like other submissions to unhealthy behaviors: alcohol, drugs, or (my own poison) food. An indulged weakness that becomes all the more understandable the dumber someone is, and that more puzzling the smarter they are.

So please, sell that crazy someplace else. As anyone who knows me knows, I have quite enough lapses into mania and depression, and enough fought-against capitulation to my impulses (that I later regret). Maybe your religion calms you, because hell, I would also routinely feel much better if I thought I was regularly sharing my decisions with someone infinitely smarter than me. But an initial improvement does not promise a continued one over time; sometimes scrubbing too hard strips away, and sometimes neglect allows toxic mold.

So yes, this is why I'm so ambivalent about you. This is why I'll date you but not love you, or love you but not really commit. Because when your religion comes up, it's like a big glob of spinach stuck in your teeth...but one I can't mention to you because you know it's there. And you wear like a badge of honor.

It's not honorable; it's not admirable. It's a flaw. It's a public declaration of irrationality, and it makes me all the more lonely in my hopeless analysis (and over-analysis). Since the point of human interaction is to reduce loneliness, eventually I won't see the point anymore. And then we'll come to an end.

In my sadness and pain, perhaps I'll pray for you at that end, but when I'm myself again I'll just regret that I let myself be lured by one of you...again. Against all rationality.

A couple away

I suppose we all have wish lists for those we would next love, and I'm no exception. My list isn't written; it's more a vague sense of traits and thoughts than a fully defined person with only a face left for fate to fill in. And in keeping with its author, even in its vagueness, my list is full of contradictions.

You're not the realized version of my vague idea. You're just the closest I've seen. And when so many little things add up, a single big conflict (or even two) loses a hell of a lot of its importance.

This both gives me hope and saddens me. Hope, because maybe what I'm looking for isn't the rarest of holy grails. Sorrow, because I'm not good enough now, and maybe never can be, for you or someone like you.

I foresee the other side of who I was once: the gentle refusal to read between lines, the occasional hope-inspiring slips either unintentional or made to stoke a dying interest. The difference: for me, over time, familiarity spawned either love or guilt.

Yes, there are other factors at play with us. Perhaps our history is too short to tell quite what our future holds. There's certainly no guarantee that time, my on-paper admiration, and friendship development will lead to the unreciprocated adoration I predict. But I'd be surprised if it didn't, and maybe the excitement of that drama would pale before the pain of the continuous, unstated rejection...the stress of holding back what I couldn't say, or what you'd refuse to hear.

A dozen away

We all have our motivations. Though yours and mine are not identical, an exchange might still make us both better off. Or—it could make me much worse while leaving you indifferent. Or—perhaps we'll both be unsatisfied.

I like you. I like you so much that I wish I could stop there, or perhaps add an 'and' that isn't the catch. Of course there's more, though —the 'but' that always steps in to eventually ruin it all. I like you, but it's really just that I like the effect you have on me. I don't think I want to know you, not really. Everything I learn about you only bothers me more, because each revelation triggers my judgments, anxiety, and 'what's the point' hopelessness. I shouldn't like you; you're against everything I stand for.

But I do like you, and every time we talk that fondness grows. I like the way you make me feel, the way you put up with my eccentricities, the way you take care of little things so my brain doesn't fry a circuit surmounting an impossibly tiny task. I suspect that this is what men do when they woo beautiful, stupid women. The goal is not to find a soulmate, or even a receptive audience to a spoken stream of consciousness. The goal is to keep her happy and talking so you can appreciate the shape of her mouth; the curve of her breast.

Perhaps you should stop talking; your perfect lips can refuse to substantiate my assumptions and deductions. Let me be the one to speak; let me find a better use for them. I'll fight the battle of wanting to know what you'd say unmuzzled. I can't fight by not listening to you; you have me enthralled and I savor every detestable word.

You once promised me sweet possibilities, and I believed you. Perhaps I misread you. Maybe poor timing's to blame. But my dear, I don't know our friendship will survive this. Though, your future words considered, maybe that's best.

People often fault me for exaggerating my emotions. In my world, people are not often 'disliked.' Instead, they are despised, reviled, and yes, hated. Situations are not often 'uncomfortable' or 'inconvenient.' Instead, they're torturous; unbearable. And when I express these feelings, I'm criticized for exaggerating.

I'm not. Though I hate (yes, hate) it, I feel things amazingly strongly — particularly for someone whose emotions are as inappropriate as mine tend to be, and for someone who resents her emotions as much as I do. I resent my emotions precisely because they are so strong, and so volatile, and because each day they threaten to sweep away the wall of defenses I carefully construct each morning to repress them.

Perhaps my suppression attempts have actually succeeded far better than I believe, such that the only feelings that break through my wall are actually quite strong. Or perhaps my tolerance has been lowered and my sensitivity heightened, so that even minor tremors shake me like earthquakes. There are any number of reasons I might feel this way.

I feel positive emotions that strongly too. Just as an inconsiderate gesture can fill me with hate, a kind one can spawn a correspondingly overblown sense of love and affection. The difference, of course, is that I don't mind sharing my anger and resentment with others. The sharing of negative emotion doesn't encourage or set expectations (or anything that could otherwise lead to disappointment and pain). Not so with strong positive emotion.

So yes, a wild declaration might occasionally escape my lazy lips. I might make a grandiose gesture. But you shouldn't feel too special. The next wave of my emotions could easily sweep you out to more turbulent seas. And for all I know, it could take me too.