the interrogator

Is it really that bad?

I prefer to think of myself as a scientist, or a journalist. Seeking out the truth wherever it may be found, understanding the logic behind everything, finding out and verifying, analyzing, testing, dissecting, asking questions along the way. I like to know things, grasp the fundamental ideas, appreciate how the world works and seize the meaning beneath its smoky veneer; every word, every gesture, every nuance, every suggestion or implication or hint; every little thing including the ones that don't concern me (but especially the ones that do).

I am curious. Curiosity may have killed the cat, and will probably kill me one day, but at least it died for a good cause. Having an inquisitive mind, it gives me a sense of satisfaction when I'm able to take something apart (both literally and metaphorically) and figure out every single element, making the sum of the parts all the more intriguing. It's true the more you know, the more you realize that you actually don't know much of anything.

And since Mr. Know-It-All doesn't know it all, I'm constantly searching for answers. I may not ask all the right questions, though, which is something I'm trying to work at. The intention is not to interrogate (as those who know me call my method of questioning), but to learn. As I've said before, I can be disconnected from everything. Living in my own world exacerbates the need to know more about the outside world; isolation leads to the perception that you're the center of the universe (making your fall from grace a lot more painful than it's supposed to be). Keeping your head in the clouds makes you high, but you can no longer walk in a straight line and you're beginning to see things that aren't there.

My refusal to let go might actually be an attempt to cling on to something real, something tangible, to keep my feet on the ground -- a boat lost at sea needs an anchor before it can get its bearings right. I'm no psychiatrist so I don't know for sure (really, I'm just making this stuff up). I do know I need reassurance, and the truth does it better for me than anything else. I just need to be sure, that's all.

To think I've rubbed almost everyone I know the wrong way by questioning everything; best friends, relatives, parents, God, acquaintances, even the kids I teach tuition to -- the other day one of them asked me why I keep asking her "Why?" every time she answers a question, and I told her that it's because she keeps saying the dumbest things (relax, she knew I was kidding so she laughed and took out her .32 Magnum but that's not the issue here).

I may hurt some people along the way, and for that I apologize. I'm pretty sure it was unintentional; sometimes I even forget that communication affects both sides of the equation. I've learned not to open my mouth when it's not needed, but sometimes my curiosity gets the better of me. And at times it makes me wish I was more sensitive to feelings other than my own. Thoughtless words are usually the most trenchant, and I'm guilty as charged. Forever blurting out things that I'll regret later, but I guess that's just me.

PLAYLIST

Foolish Games -- Jewel

Do You Realize? -- The Flaming Lips

You Were Right -- Badly Drawn Boy

Maybe -- N.E.R.D.

The Ballad -- Millencolin