text: I’m a stranger to myself and I enjoy it very much. It makes masturbation very fun. Also haircuts. I learn a lot about myself while I’m sitting in the chair getting my hair cut, talking about where I’m going to go on holiday. It’s cheaper, too. Bored waiting for the bus? No problem. I just strike up a conversation with myself and the time passes quickly. Then when my bus comes I’ll say “toodle-oo!” to myself and be on my way. I’m really beginning to get to know myself through all these different ways of meeting and talking. Of course there are times when I don’t want to talk, and that’s fine, I completely understand and respect my privacy. But usually after a while I usually want to get back out there and mingle again. There are times when I just completely don’t connect to myself, but that’s ok, it happens. You can’t be instant friends with everyone you meet. I just accept it and move on. No matter how strange I can seem to myself at times, there are lots of opportunities to meet me, so there’s no point dwelling on the times it didn’t quite happen. I'm excited to meet myself again. I don’t want to get too close, though. Some things you're just better off not knowing. I think secrets make a person more alluring, if a bit confusing and difficult to understand. I already know a lot about myself, more than the average stranger, at least. It’s kind of strange to know so much about a stranger. I know how I like my coffee and what position I like to sleep in, for example. But that’s only exterior stuff. I can’t help wondering what I’m thinking about when I’m not talking to myself. I get the sense when I do talk that I’m holding something back, that there’s something I’m just not saying. Maybe it’s just out of politeness, or maybe I’m just vulnerable and sensitive and afraid to reveal too much without knowing the other person better. People are like that in society. I’d rather just portray a superficial impression of myself, it seems. It’s a lot safer that way. There was this one time I talked for hours with myself about all these deep things. It felt really good, as if I’d coaxed this extremely timid animal out from its hiding place, and I told myself all these things and it was a very enlightening experience. But then I had to go. I’m a stranger to myself, after all. That’s the way it always has to be. I often find myself wondering whether the things I told myself that time were even real. I mean, we were just two strangers. Is it possible to go to such a deep, personal level with a stranger like that? Maybe I just needed someone to tell all those things to, things I can’t tell anybody else. I wonder if I’ll ever see myself again so that I can find out. I wonder where I am now, what I mean to myself, how far away I am, whether or not I even remember myself, who I am. Maybe I scared myself off, and the timid wild animal ran back into the forest, never to be seen again. The ball is firmly in my court. When the time is right, I’ll come out. I just have to wait. I’ll be able to see me coming before I see myself, of course. I might even be watching me right now. Anyway, the next time I see myself, I’m not going to pry. Whatever I want to reveal is ok with me. I’m a stranger to myself, after all. I don’t owe myself anything. I’m just going to be kind and nice and polite and say, “Pleased to meet you.