I speak boldly. I do not hedge. I sometimes grope around for a way to say something, this is true, but for the most part I am articulate and I chose my words so that I say what I mean. So, why is it that my friends feel the need to listen for meanings that aren't there? And why is it that I am expected to pick up on what they are hiding behind their words? I pick it up, often enough, but I put it down. "No," I tell myself, "If he meant that, he would have said as much, and it is wrong of me to assume that."
Today I am without guile. I do not play games because I am too good at them. There is no challenge, and too great a risk of hurt feelings. It is too easy to be clever -- being honest and genuine are two of the most challenging, difficult things I have ever done. But I know people who are players, I know that something in them thrives on intrigue, on engaging a partner on the field of the intellect. Especially MR.
The fencer in me recognizes the dance, and sometimes I participate: He thrusts in tierce, I counterparry in quarte, he feints and then lunges in quarte, I engage in quinte and attack in seconde, he counterparries in tierce, and when he presents his foil horizontally, I resist the urge to beat his blade and thus disarm him, raising my foil to his throat. He is so very intelligent, but younger and thus less experienced than I, and I have no desire to teach him things he will only want to unlearn later in life.
Labels: conversation, desire, friendship, MR, relationships