Yeah, sure.

(A Monologue)

Let's try not to get petty, shall we?

It isn't as if I've pretended to like you for the benefit of your feelings, so don't go assuming that my honesty means rejection. It doesn't. I like you. I just would rather not be around you.

I've been struggling lately. I've been hanging on to the basic tenants of life: sleep, coffee, and film. Anything else is icing. If the garbage makes it out the door, I'm considering that the event of the day. Dressing is a feat for the record books.

On occasions such as these where I make myself useful by contemplating my uselessness, I find myself wondering why I won't just open my front door, walk those four blocks to a bus stop and go talk to you. Well, I could talk to anyone, but for the purposes of repairing our fragile friendship, let's make it you. I'd tell you that I feel like a lame, stupid lump with tatty hair and even tattier shoes. You'd tell me that I'm great, and that my hair is fashionable. I could pour my heart out to you, and you'd catch it and swivel it around until all the irrationality fell to the bottom. And then we'd watch Goodbye, Lenin for the umpteenth time.

Why the hell don't I do this? Well, if you haven't noticed, I'm clever but not at all smart. Smart people see the wrongs and know to right them by means of rational solution. Clever people see the wrongs, ask why they are so wrong, begin an internal moral debate that sends them into a shame spiral and then can't be arsed to do anything about it. I'm so clever, sometimes I skip right to the end.

So, I've been asking myself why I've sent you on this lovely emotional mystery tour of my mind. Partly as an explanation of why I have the personality of a used sandwich bag at times. Partly, because I love to talk about myself. But most importantly, to serve to you as a reminder that I see how wonderful everything is about you, and how I could be defenselessly in love with you. We could both be happy. Until I saw the wrongs. And let's not get started on that, shall we?

If you understood me better, you'd see that I am too clever for my own good. And that makes me very, very proud. You don't want to have to deal with that.

You're too smart for me.

(This has been a semi-fictitious rant from the perspective a man, maybe. I have no idea yet)