But Not Invisible Enough.

“If I was invisible…wait…I already am.” -Clay Aiken

“Written on the body is a secret code only visible in certain lights; the accumulations of a lifetime gather there. In places the palimpsest is so heavily worked that the letters feel like braille. I like to keep my body rolled up away from prying eyes. Never unfold too much, tell the whole story.” -From “Written on the Body” by Jeanette Winterson

I’m not one of those people who has a problem with Clay Aiken.  Lately, this guy has been getting splattered all over my life.  I get in the car, and between CD’s his songs are playing.  I turn on the TV, and he’s in the news…blah, blah.  So, in honor of that, music will be included for this entry.  I’m not against Clay.  If I was in his shoes, I’d be doing exactly what he’s doing.  I say good for him.  If anyone starts freaking out about this and starts leaving notes that include ignorance based on this statement, I”ll just erase it.  Thank you for your tolerance.

I’m invisible, but not invisible enough.  I am a hider by trade, we have already established this.  Knowing this, it’s not hard to understand why the feeling I had while I was at home for Christmas (like I had a 10 foot target strapped to my back) made me more than just a little uncomfortable.  I work very, very hard to keep myself under the collective radar of society.  I’m more of a subversive, undercover worker in my daily life.  That might surprise some of you based on what you’ve read here, but it’s true.  And I live according to a very strict set of rules that is designed to not cause anyone to raise an eyebrow.  To put on the front of being normal in every way–that’s my goal–whether I’m normal or not.  (I’m sure popular opinion varies.)  This plays out in evevy aspect of my life.  For example, I don’t advertise my faith on a megaphone. I prefer to get to know people, and let what I believe come out in conversations, if people are interested.  Quite frankly, there are times where people ask me questions, and I purposefully make them specify their questions, because I don’t want to dispense answers.  I want people to be forced into doing the math.  Being a hider comes with a pricetag, though.  There is some information I tote that no one knows.  I carry it, and carry it, and carry it, until I can’t take it anymore.  Then I tell too many people, and I overexpose myself.  I burn down the stand of trees I was hiding in, and then panic because I don’t have anywhere to hide.  That’s the way my life works.  I’m in that boat right now.  There are a couple of things I’ve just plain told to many people about for it to stay hidden.  And it’s all my fault.  I thought I could sit on it, and when I couldn’t sit on it anymore, it all just kind of came out.  I hate when that happens.  Here’s hoping it stays under raps.  There are some sources I don’t worry about (you know who you are…thank you).  There are some people who know who shouldn’t.  I shouldn’t have told them what was going on.  And I will pay the price.  And that’s just the way it has to be.  How unfortuate.  Subsequently, I’ve been about as anxious as is humanly possible for about three weeks now.  I know it’s starting to get bad because the anxiety has found me in my last refuge–my dreams.  Check it:

(continued, next entry)