Me? Well I'm a Scoripo/Saggitarius cusp. Someone too cynical, too easily engrossed in the petty, too sex-obsessed and stubborn to even bother with such a remarkable waste of one's time like astrology (Scorpio); but also fully willing to admit there are things about which I know nothing, that the universe is a mystery, a never ending source of knowledge and wonderment; the pursuit of which my most precious concern (Sagittarius).
It means that like a revolving door, I'm simultaneously opened and closed. It means, much to the constant crazy-making dismay of the man I love, that I always have a secret. ALWAYS. Because I need things that are mine and mine alone.
However my fair-minded and honest Sag brain counters the Scorpio's passion for excitement; to the point where my secrets are tame beyond belief. I don't run a dungeon out of our apartment while G's at work. I haven't racked up a life-threatening debt with a bookie. I don't have an eating disorder, I don't cut myself, I'm not having an extra-marital romance (except with you, my darling). Nothing that interesting.
I keep really stupid things secret. Like my favorite place to eat lunch. Or that I gave a woman at the pharmacy our grocery money because she didn't have enough to get her prescriptions. That I have an extensive 'win the lottery' list of paintings and sculpture I've collected from solo visits to galleries all over the city. That I listen to ham radio net-streams and watch Oprah and have a long standing fantasy about starring in a Three Is Company remake with Rufus Wainwright and Janeane Garofalo* I never lie, though. If you ask me a direct question, my favorite lunching spot for instance, I'd tell you. But until and unless I'm asked, it's my spot, and Fakir the owner is MY friend, and I ain't sharing him. Get your own Fakir.
I admitted to my friend Zeebah during one of our weekly girl nights together (which I never write about, because it's ours), that I find my secretiveness bizarre--because of what I choose too keep secret. I know why one wouldn't mention an erotic dream about an ex to their current lover (which, oddly I would). Or an embarassing moment (which, again, I would). Or tell a potential employer about your drinking habits (okay, that I'd keep to myself). But keeping a second blogroll? People I read every single day but never link to, never leave comments with...out of some childish need to keep a portion of my life to myself? Or how about crafting home made paper bag book covers for whatever book I'm reading, wrap them up like a porno mag, so no onlookers can see what it is. And not just the pulp bestsellers, the highbrow literati stuff. Especially the highbrow literati stuff.
I've told G that I believe EVERYONE has a secret double life. Everybody. To varying degrees. Am I wrong in this?
*with a modern twist...see he'd be a gay man pretending to be straight for the benefit of a sweet, sweet NYC "deal" apartment owned by an outwardly homophobic landlord--who's a closeted queer of course, a'la Mr. Furley--played by Michael Mckean. And we'd be his aging--yet hip!--fag-hag [hate the term, but I'm pitching here] roommates who--having no idea Rufus is gay--embarrass ourselves each week with our ever-more-outrageous attempts to lure him into bed; meanwhile driving him mad with the constant parade of our gorgeous gay male friends who he cannot approach because it would blow his cover. Comedy of error hilarity ensues. You have my number, Mr. Burrows.
i tend to keep secret the things i am unable to articulate well enough that the other person will be able to understand. some of these are awful black clouds; most of them are things that i am afraid to say because the words will make them seem more stupid. in both cases it's like telling someone about your dreams, where unless you can convey how awful it was to look for your shoes, and look and look and they weren't anywhere and it was so horrible and scary and nothing was ever so bad, you're better off not telling, because nobody cares about a dream where you were looking for your shoes.
your sitcom idea, though? i'd be pitching that to anyone who would stand still for five minutes. because i wouldn't even need credit: i'd just need to know it was out there.
Posted by: anne at December 8, 2005 02:54 AMYes, exactly. Just like trying to explain a dream that would only be horrible to you. I recently had one such dream about a duck. Yes, a duck. See what I mean?
The things I keep secret are the things I just can't explain. Which is not the same as hiding something.
Being a Sag with Scorpio rising, I'm down with your secret love of secrets. I recently came across this amazing site (actually a tie in to a book) that features confessional post cards made by anyone who felt the need to partially reveal some of their hidden selves. It started as an art project, and apparently took off. Some of it is pedestrian, some is provacative, some shocking and some truly bizarre. Like secrets, I guess.
Psssst....
http://postsecret.blogspot.com/#113371441212144594
Posted by: ccp at December 8, 2005 11:14 AMI've visited that site. Yes! I love the idea of releasing a secret out into the world. But, being me, I only enjoyed the harmless secrets. I stopped reading somewhere around..."I used to touch my little sister."
Posted by: antigeist at December 8, 2005 11:24 AMyeah, some dark stuff indeed. the cynical (scorpio) side of me wondered if certain "secrets" were merely invented to accompany some bang-up design.
Is it just me, or is there kind of a Bosom Buddies trajectory in that sitcom pitch, as well?
Posted by: g at December 8, 2005 01:14 PMYeah, there's a bit of the Buddies of Bosom involved, but really it's just Will and Grace with a (fully) closeted Will and Karen as the second roommate. Jack is the landlord, natch.
Still though...a mighty divide between the rip-off and the hat-tip, don't you agree?
And I'd have a real job, sweetie.