It's unlike me to write two journal entries within the space of a one month period. Currently, however, I feel a need to talk (Or write, if you prefer) that the plethora of inanimate objects around me are currently not fulfilling.

Anthony came back from Iraq last week, much to the joy of his friends and family. He hasn't changed much...but then, he wasn't very close to the front lines. I went to dinner with him and his family on Thursday at Stella's (a 50's-themed restaurant) We talked about plans for the future - his and mine - and his experiences in Iraq. He had a fairly mild tour of duty, aside from constant shelling and camel spiders. The girls are getting old, too. Tiffany and Stephanie both are now up to my neck, and are looking less like children and more like the small adults that they are. Tiffany hardly said two words to me the entire meal, unusual for her, though perhaps she was having a bad day.

I often wish that I were what I am not. More attractive, more likeable, more...normal. These all stem from the same thing - the basic human desire to be accepted. This desire, obviously, serves a purpose. Society works better when the components of said society come together to cooperate for the purpose of achieving collective goals. Those who exhibit antisocial behavior tend to be ostracized and deprived of the benefits that a collective offers - security and strength. Peer pressure, though, touches many other facets of life than just the basic building blocks of our society. It shapes our actions constantly. And despite my best efforts, I've felt it shaping mine, too.

Step into the Wayback Machine.

My first day at a private school. (ICA) I was, to quote Robert Heinlein, a stranger in a strange land. None of the social conventions and rules that my peers had grokked through years of playground etiquette had any meaning to me. It took time, but throughout the course my year there, I learned the various rules that act as the lubrication of the social engine. Certain ways of speaking, certain subjects to speak about, and so forth, until I had changed my behavior enough that my classmates started to like me. I arrived a weird, disliked person. I left a popular student. When I look back now, this is slightly frightening. Now that I'm at Point of Grace, I see this effect even more in my contacts with the people there.

I have a deep envy of those people who honestly don't care about what other people think about them. You know the types: those folks who revel in their unique tastes and personalities. I used to think that, I think. I didn't care - anybody who thought I was weird would just have to learn to live with it, and that was that. But despite my best efforts to deny it, repress it, and ignore it, I have an overwhelming desire to be accepted. To be liked by other people. Luckily, I'm good at hiding my feelings when I disappoint someone that I like, or anger a friend. And yet at the same time, I second-guess my attempts to fit in. Why should I change for other's benefit? Why should I alter my personality for the enjoyment of someone else? Isn't unique a good thing? My own hypocrisy is appalling, yet I lack the strength - or maybe the desire - to not care.

This is perhaps the most personal, and angst-y entry to date - I'll probably delete it later. I can't stand histrionic outpourings that are for the sole purpose of inducing sympathy. I don't want sympathy, I want courage, dangit! :-P