i feel like i’m starring in the truman show except i’m the only one watching.

when i was little i used to imagine that the girls i had crushes on had invisible surveillance cameras that followed me around my house. so even in the privacy of my own home, i always felt like i had to work up some swag. must walk cool down the hallway. must practice piano impressively. tiffany might be watching.

since then, me growing up and also the implementation of the patriot act has helped me either become skeptical or get used to invisible surveillance cameras. but i’ve maintained some of my idiosyncrasies. i talk to myself, especially when i’m in awkward situations by myself (like, “oh it’s okay adriel,” when i accidentally brush someone’s bumper while parallel parking). sometimes when i’m by myself at home, i’ll skip songs that i like because i imagine that it might be annoying to someone else if they were here with me (even though they’re not). my most private thoughts aren’t jotted down in my notebooks out of fear of them being scoured by someone else’s eyes. nothing is private. even my deepest thoughts are at the mercy of my subconscious’ criticism.

at times i’ll see myself either from a third-person perspective, or in a series of black and white photographs. how incredibly self-absorbed–the only time i pluck myself from the innards of my thoughts is when i’m thinking about what it would be like to be someone else seeing me. i wonder how much of this weird self-imposed parole has shaped who i actually am. i didn’t have any older siblings to tell me how to act, just that itch on the back of my neck that let me know when something i just did could’ve been done a bit cooler.

aaaaaaanyway, i don’t know where i was going with this. i just liked the way the very first sentence sounded and thought i’d run with it. i should get used to writing late at night again without falling asleep. poof.