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Noticing what interests me is more difficult than noticing what bores me.
After all, a skilled manipulator will try to make me interested.
What am I supposed to be interested in? And how intently?
What about the sincere manipulators who believe they have my best interests at heart?
A can of worms to be sure. Can anyone who is noticed to be free actually be left alone and allowed to be free? Or must the free man choose between quiet obscurity and crucifixion?
What bores me is the ineptitude of it all. The expectation that my buttons, and I have a few, are the ones common to what I appear to be. Because I refrain from declaring myself until I have begun to see the character of the person I may hope to be interested in.