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December 30th, 2001

Sworn to Secrecy

I hate secrets.

I hate being told secrets; I hate being asked to keep secrets. I hate having to remember what's secret and what isn't, and what I'm allowed to tell to whom.

It takes away brain power that I could better be using somewhere else. It takes away emotional investment I could better be using somewhere else. And it rubs my conscience the wrong way, as well as makes my tongue sore from all the biting.

Depending on the size of the secret, keeping it a secret can become a full-time task, and an arduous one at that. My mom was in the CIA when I was growing up, and had many days where she just plain couldn't tell us how her day went.

Now, as an adult, I've got secrets of my own; my natural inclination is to just say "screw it," and tell anybody who's interested to know. But trumpeting these things to the world would cause people I care about discomfort at best and great pain at worst, so I don't do it. But there's the rub ... is it really fair of them to ask me to suffer so they won't? And is it really in my best interest to agree to it? Yes, I care about them ... but why does this make me feel like I care about them more than they care about me?

I hate secrets.

-The Gneech

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