I hate people.

You read that correctly. I hate people. Though, in my nature, I cannot be some misanthropic lonely soul in this world. Let me correct myself, I love people- people who deserve to be loved. And only a few people on my list of people to love that are complete jerkinthefaces from time to time have my eternal love for them. Those would be some arsey family members.

But, I am starting to become so confused by all of the people around me. I used to be so good at understanding people before I got to know them. I had this sixth sense where I could feel their intentions and spirit before I even really knew much about them. Now, it's gone down the drain. I get to know people, or about them, and they turn out to be so different from what I expected. I am judging them... ahh... I see what I am doing here. I have fallen out of my hard foundations I tried so hard to create over the summer- start anew. It's crumbling fast, I am beginning to no longer want to know anyone new.

It's so much easier to look at someone on the surface, and paint out an elaborate, dreamy (or even dramatic) background attached to their face. Maybe that's why I love photos. You see the surface of someone, and you can see their pain, you can see their joys. Yet... I have never once questioned, "Do I really know as much about this person as I think I do?"

I never do.
I don't know much about many people, in fact. It's taken years to pry stories from my mother's mouth about her past. Same goes for my grandfather. I have grown up with such cryptic and mysterious people, is this what has led me my wild imagination? Is this why I like thinking about people I don't know? Or, am I feeding gossip to my own mind?

Oh, where this is going, I know it's going to spiral into a crazy mess. I don't believe in the whole "once you understand yourself, you can understand others easily." It's a bunch of bunk, and even the people who recite this know they are full of it. Nobody will understand you, you will never understand yourself, and you will not understand anyone more than you know about them.

Upon thinking more... suppose I am enraged with people because my little fantasies become ruined when I get to know them.

I'll have you know it, I don't mind living on a Scottish moor to my dieing days, cold and locked away writing by candlelight, and thinking about what 'real' and 'infinity' mean... and this completely contradicts the opening of this entry. I can't make up my damned mind about things. It's infuriating.

I believe I've jumped in a puddle, and I can't get out of it. It's no big deal, but I'm crying over it anyways.

(exeunt)

Hej hej,
Any