The secret life

This caught my eye while reading through Maybe, Maybe Not.

Most of the time, most of us go around with our heads running full tile doing the most amazing things, while we safely negotiate the obligations of the public and private life. Much of what goes on in the secret life is not aberrational. Sometimes entertaining, it is often mundane and unexceptional--neither dramatic nor demonic. Just the necessary backstage maintenance operation of life where we sort out the contradictory material into piles of what works and what doesn't, what's useful and what's not.

The French have a charming term for one aspect of the secret life.
La perruque. It means "the wig," and is slang for a particular kind of disguise. It refers to what you do for yourself while apparently going about the job you are paid to do. If you are a typist working at your desk and you are in fact writing a letter to your lover on company time, this is la perruque. When you make personal calls from your office phone, do a little grocery shopping while out on company business, daydream, or even use your employer's time to make a list of things to do over the weekend, it's all la perruque--conducting your personal life under the guise of working at your job. It's not stealing. It's an acknowledgment that your public life, personal life, and secret life run concurrently and parallel. La perruque on the job is balanced by the time oyu think about work while you are on vacation.

- Maybe, Maybe Not, Robert Fulghum

Ah. The secret life. The part of ourselves that reside only in our thoughts and surface during perhaps our most honest moments. The thoughts that I cherish in secret abound in number. I am a pretty secretive person, and it takes a lot to get to me to crack. I am a bit of a cheat. I love listening to other people's secrets, but I always have difficulty divulging mine.

This excerpt from the book particularly caught my eye because it gives me a legitimate excuse for doing non-work things at work. But if there's any secret I can openly share right now, it is this: I am a very restless person.

I know, I know. I always seem so "well-kept," in all possible meanings of the term. But I am one of those giddy worms that just can't sit still in one place and stay there. For example, I can't study in just one place. I have to transfer every few hours or so. Even if I am only rotating between 2 rooms or 2 tables, I have to move from one place to the next and back. Another telltale sign of me being hard at work is if I am nibbling on something. On junk food. My numero uno vitamins are M&Ms plain. Sometimes, Toby's mexican-style peanuts. On other days, it's chips. If I am not nibbling, I am not thinking hard enough (and really, if my boss knew this about me, he would've gone worried months ago!). So really, I cannot work without a diversion. Not a big earth shattering diversion. Just small minute ones that play in the background. Short walks every now and then. Back in college, some moments in the balcony, and for the heavyweight material, a short trip to the grocery also helps as a "pickmeupper."

I wouldn't be me without my secret life. It isn't even about the need to surround myself with whatever form of mystery. I guess it's just about that satisfaction of having something to smile about that no one else can understand. It's nice to have things for yourself that no one else can tap into.

Enough about the secret life. It's time to sleep.

***

It's a Sunday night, and I am delaying my much-awaited sleep because when I wake up, it'll be Monday morning. I've sworn off my usual Monday pickmeupper because I am getting wiser about money (ahem, more stingy). I don't know how I can keep this up, having Starbucks only ten steps away from my building, but I will sure try. I only have to last until the end of July, but gosh, the call of designer caffeine is strong.