alice

my first trip back home since moving to los angeles was last october. i had coffee with friends one night and was reacquainted with someone that i had hung out with, but had never been particularly close to. he got really weird after he stopped doing drugs. he told me about his conversations with tu pac when he was institutionalized for a brief time. at this point, tu pac had been dead for several years. i never really expected someone to get crazier when they're off of the drugs.

while we were sitting there he said all these things about me that i thought i kept well hidden from the outside world. every word was true. he told some of my darkest secrets. not what horrible thing i may have done when i was 8, but secrets of the way my mind works and who i am.

i was surprised that someone i had never considered a good friend would know me inside and out. he said things that i don't even like to acknowledge about myself, things that i like to ignore and pretend don't exist. i wondered if i was that transparent, if everybody knew these things about me. maybe being drug free helped him psycho analyze people, maybe he just got lucky. i don't know. i guess that there are people who know me better than i know myself. i definitely haven't figured out who i am.

i wasn't mad at him for saying those things, but i wasn't really sure how to respond. i didn't know why he was telling me all this, and why he had chosen to when there were 5 other people sitting at the table. it was slightly awkward. the table remained silent for a good minute afterwards until someone decided to steal an old, smelly, dirty, purple stuffed monkey off of a building and stick it on someone's car.