Sunday, 03 November 2002 | Boxes

We step into our boxes eagerly. One box has the types of music we like written all over it, the names of individual bands ordered by favorites. Stamped on another box are the names of the towns we've lived in, and yet another is labeled with our political and religious beliefs. We go down the list, as if we're checking inventory, trying to figure out who it is we're talking to, and to present our own contents, spilling them out rather sloppily and immodestly. Of course it makes sense to assess each other and to figure out which boxes we share, but we haven't learned to pace ourselves, haven't realized that we're being too simplistic and judgmental.

That said, last night's party was fun, and I did get past the preliminary (mandatory?) interrogation with a few people. I've decided that after two nights of living behind my make-up and hair spray, I'm happy to return to society in my normal state; for some reason I found my costume this year unusually exhausting. Also exhausting: learning to be passive, something I've reluctantly had to practice this past week. And going to bed at 2 a.m. on week nights. Stupidly exhausting.