Who wants flowers when you're dead? Nobody.
Sixty-fifth Entry. I love you, Marie.
08-15-2003 | 11:07 a.m.

Someone going by the name "Marie" left a short note in my guestbook. It is the only one of these notes that I cannot account for at all. I'm not in reference to the identity of the person, I'm in reference to the substance of the note. It's not complementary in the slightest, it has a sincerity that can not be mistaken, and I love it.

Marie wrote that I was probably thrilled to receive her short note, and she was right. For the wrong reasons. I understand her, but she has lost some understanding of me in the translation. I'm thrilled because she's honest. Because when I left no trademark of selfishness in my more recent entries...when I have many entries speaking of things that I have done that are far from selfish....she calls me selfish. She says that I don't know happiness because I'm so self-absorbed. Again, she's right. Not in a manner I'd expect many people to know, but she knows it. She saw right through me. That's the type of woman I want to marry. That's my soulmate. I love you Marie-well, only if I'm understanding you correctly. If not, I still love you, but not nearly as much.

I'm selfish because I spend hours toying with my diary-trying to find decent pictures, make up for my computers inadequate color scheme, and attempting a table. I'm selfish because I spin in a chair for hours while I listen to music or watch television. I'm selfish because I play video games when I'm bored. There are so many other things that I could, and should, be doing with my time. By my own philosophy and her own. Ayn Rand shows the darker sides of those brands of philosophy, but still I adhere to it because it feels right. Or maybe because it just feels easier...The harder things are usually the right things. Funny how that works out, isn't it?

She says I don't know happiness. I know happiness. I know joy that is unbridled and consumes me whole. Happiness that makes me shudder and fall to my knees. Twice have I cried because I was just so happy. People take drugs for that...ecstasy...to enhance their emotions and let them feel love and joy and rapture. I don't need them, I have enough already. She is right, though. I don't know happiness. The happiness that she is in reference to... I know of it, yes. I don't experience it, though. I won't let go of myself. Not yet, anyway. Marie, you'll be happy to know that your exalted happiness of total release and enlightenment is one of my life goals..perhaps the only one that I will never abandon, but only after I do certain things first.

I have an insatiable urge to help, and I know I won't be able to help if I move into that goal. I'd be incapable of cruelty. Some people say cruelty is the problem that I want to solve. It is the problem, yes. It's a horrible problem. The sad thing is, and I don't think anyone could understand how disgusted I am at myself and the world for admitting this, cruelty is a good thing. Not in a Saddam Hussein kind of way, not hardly. More in the manner of a big bully taking your lunch money from you so that he can get two milks and three slices of pizza. It makes us hard and strong. Weakness is pain, pain is suffering, suffering is the death of all happiness. Annihilate weakness and there is no pain..no suffering...no end to your joy.

Some pain, though, is good. It's good to cry when you lose a loved one. It's good to mourn them. It's also good to rejoice in the beauty of their life and the fragile state of our own. That is not a weakness, but rather a strength that few recognize as such. Desensitizing....dehumanizing...yourself is not a virtue. We have emotions for a reason, we just don't put them to good use.

Marie says I'm absorbed. If only she knew how right she is. Actually, I think she does know. She doesn't know, though, that I think of myself before anyone else. It's good and bad. I'm hard on myself before I'm hard on anyone else...and much, much harsher. I also think that I have rights that others don't when I'm not thinking clearly. I feel like I have a right to feel pain before anyone else and worse than anyone else. I try to make every hurtful item into a dagger that plunges for my heart..my jugular..anything vital. And as a result, I sometimes feel I have a right to be happier than anyone else because I know the opposite end of the spectrum so well.

It may seem like I'm trying to lift myself above the level at which Marie has placed me. No, I don't argue her point at all. Or even her reason for making it. I wholeheartedly agree with the woman, honestly, I do. In fact, I'm going to end up being exactly what she wished I was, but not before I do enough damage so that the problem I wish to be solved can be solved simply by me being happy.

I love this Marie. I don't know anything about her. I don't even know why exactly she decided to write what she did. I have hopes, though. I don't think I'm giving her too much credit with them, either. My user name, for example. Adorkable. A self-imposed title. It could have been anything. It could have been manumission, for instance. That's a good user name. Freedom from everything. It could have been hairylegs454. It's not, though. It's a title that brings forth positive social connotations. It is a self-lifting title, sugary sweet and harmless. A compliment. Someone who is self-absorbed will almost naturally choose a title for himself/herself that is a compliment. I think Marie caught that.

It's almost like a book that Ayn Rand would have wrote. The means that she could have deducted these conclusions by seeing the single facet of myself that I allow to be seen on my diary. The theme is contradictory, but only in minor details. She saw the words I used and knew their meaning. She used creative thought in piecing together every hint of myself that I leave openly for anyone. She alone has solved my puzzle, a task that no one to date has ever even come close to.. She's missing a few pieces, though. Vital parts to the overall picture that change its gruesome exterior to some beautiful....something that she would have framed on the wall next to Picasso or Monet. If I am right about her that is... She has come close enough, though. She has won my heart. I love you eternally, Marie.

I'd elaborate on all the hints I give, I'd explain which hints she picked up on and the ones she missed entirely, I'd write a manual to my soul that was as easy to read as a children's book, but it would mean nothing if I did. The entire search and point would become void. My soul would be nothing. It's like I say...."As long as you ask what the meaning of life is, the answer means nothing." You've just got to do it for yourself.

Comment <-- | -->

Flashes of High School
Summer of Change
No Brass, No ammo
Lost in Translation

Last Five

And that's that.
Referenced #2
To write them.
Heart vs mind.