12:01 p.m. - January 08, 2003
Here in my office overlooking the courtyard it is lunch time and the tables occupied with my peers, my professors, fine minds collected from around the world and I look at them and think Are they just like me, am I just like them? Maybe they've chanced upon the secret to moving past things and simply getting over it, or perhaps their demons and bogey-men assume different shapes than my own but still, how do they remember their lines? I'm the actor stumbling in front of an audience and I need new lessons to remember what I knew before.
How does this work, each of us as hurt as we are, nursing our slights and cowering from discovery yet carrying on and laughing, talking to people, going out to eat and flirting with the wait staff, winking and commenting on those in the vicinity? The role seems heavy though I too must carry it off, talking politics with one and how deoxygenated hemoglobin is paramagnetic whereas oxygenated hemoglobin is not and how this affects fMRIs (functional magnetic resonance imaging) and beware of this when testing neural activity with another and making people laugh and I laugh too, taking pleasure in discoursing with another person, relishing the security of being admired, thinking all I really want to do is be loud and not think, yet thinking is what I do best and what others expect and like any good actor, you give the audience what it wants.
Isn't that right?