In the dark.

A recurring theme in my writing is the dichotomy I face as a know-it-all who is thrillingly naive about a few specific topics. I don't know about money. I don't know about parties. I don't know about sex. The latter two were lumped into one chapter of Brainiac Zine #1 under the title page marked "fun" and I want to expand a bit on what I wrote there.

We went to a party the other night and I know it was a great time, but I sure as hell didn't have a great time. Aaron was jubilant, Dave chatted with a few people and seemed content, Jeff was mainly by himself but smiling and drifting among friends, and Amber stuck to people she already knew but seemed comfortable. I freaked out. I'm always freaked out at parties and I don't know why -- how -- other people are not. It's noisy, there are drunk strangers making overt passes at you, the music is not your thing. You don't trust these people. Why on earth are you having such a good time?

I don't understand why people drink like that. I don't understand why it seems fun to be stumbling, blacking out, groping people, whatever. I have remarkably low tolerance for alcohol, but I have proven in the past that I can drink an entire bottle of gin *an entire bottle of gin* and still feel self-conscious, still know I'm an idiot for stumbling or slurring or giggling or taking too long to answer a simple question. What is it about other people that allows them to lose the concept that they, in fact, are also idiots. We're all fucked up. How does alcohol erase that from their minds and not mine?

There is a little bit of my mind that hangs back, a little piece of Kate that is never a part of the fun. There's a voice, a piece of my brain that just watches and listens and learns. It's the voice that pipes up and points things out... "crying doesn't change anything," "he only says that when he's drunk," "that smile looks so fake," "you're the only one," "that person probably has alcohol poisoning," or just plain, "ick." It's the sober critic. I can't drink it quiet. I can't laugh it off. It's there, it will always be there. This is not my advantage, this is my curse. This is what keeps me firmly alone, apart from the fun. This is what has me hiding.

On a completely seperate note, someone has to explain internet porn to me. I know you know. I don't get it. What the hell is it that you're all looking at? I have searched, I have even *found*, but I do not understand the appeal. Videos make some sense sometimes. Like, depending on what's in them, I can see how those might serve a purpose, like to stimulate imagination or something. But just the pictures? Those disjointed pictures that have no context, no movement, no sound, no anything. What part of your imagination do those play to? You've seen naked people before... can't you just remember them? Why do you have to look at *new* naked people who aren't even *doing* anything because they're just photographs. I want to know. I want answers. No one ever really answers. Oh, so many many many questions. This is only one. There are more.