This is completely unrelated to today's post, you guys (or just me, as I reread my post after publishing), but while I was in the shower just a bit ago I was scratching at a little scab at the edge of my fingernail where my finger is sore, and a bunch of pus came out. This is the third time in about a week that this has happened, with two different fingers. Clearly I'm doing SOMETHING wrong with my life. It's probably my habit of gnawing and tugging at hangnails until they tear off and leave a gaping, bloody hole in the side of my finger that's begging to host infection.
And yet, there's a little part of me that lives for the moment when I can squeeze something and be rewarded with billowing clouds of white blood cell waste... I might talk more about this later.
So today's post is about secrets. I thought I should let everyone know (from this point onward, I'm just going to pretend there are people reading this so I can avoid the awkward "or no one" side notes) that I don't believe in secrets. That or I'm incapable of keeping one.
I think it stems from my lack of personal mystique. I tell everyone everything about me, immediately upon meeting them. Thanks to this, or perhaps as a causal factor, I have no mental-to-verbal filter (We'll see how well this translates into keeping a blog). For example, the other day I happened to mention, in front of a good portion of my friend's clustermates, that I'm doubly inbred, with two sets of my great-grandparents having been first cousins. And as soon as I hit that lovely orange "PUBLISH POST" button, I will have shared that fact with the whole internet. But it's whatever. Secrets are for pansies who can't own up to who they are or what they've done. (I swear I'm intelligent and well-formed. No extra or missing digits. Though apparently my tongue is shorter than average, and the opening at the back of my throat as well as my tonsils are unusually small, and I can't roll my r's).
Unfortunately for others, my candidness seems to elicit an abnormal amount of trust to be placed in me. So here I am, Miss Verbal Diarrhea 2010 (oh, it's 2011 now, huh? That's okay, my trophy says 2010), and here are all these people telling me their most intimate secrets (I need to find a good synonym for secret soon), which I will, in a matter of hours, tell my mother, my boyfriend, and at least one of my really good friends. (It might also stem from my mother being exactly the same way. I know far too many details of her intimate life, the private lives of her friends and acquaintances, and the buried secrets of my family members. Thanks, Mom).
Even saying something like, "You have to promise not to tell anyone! ANYONE!" won't ensure the safety of your classified/confidential/privileged information (thanks thesaurus.com!) because, for me, secrets seem to have an expiration date. "Oh, in high school this guy confided in me that he and this other guy were having butt sex with each other all the time. Well, it's not high school anymore, so I'm sure it's alright to tell people now!" That's me. Only it's not like I tell EVERYONE. Only people who I feel it won't matter if I tell. Unrelated people; you know?
Also, secrets are conditional. If two of my friends are having a fight, or one friend has some issue with the other, and they refuse to talk and sort things out on their own, I will notify whichever friend needs to be notified of what he/she needs to know. It's not right to stew in silence and let a friendship fall apart. Communication is key, people! For some reason the angry friend usually ends up pissed at me for explaining how they feel. Fancy that. So, I also tell related people secrets...
Maybe I'm a terrible person. Or maybe people should realize when I tell them all my (non)secrets right off the bat that I have loose lips. Either way, I mean no harm.
This post was supposed to be mildly entertaining and humorous, but I feel like I may have ended up on too serious a note and made myself look bad. Oh well. It's no secret that I have my flaws.