Yup. They're all illusions held by many, like mazes made of
   people. and gamuts we must run through, getting bonked on the
   head all the way like a Whack-a-Mims. My brother, who lives
   here, called me a hermit once, a monk another time.* Only
   twice.* We generally don't care much for each other but we have
   a "man's respect" for each other; we quietly know what we have
   to do and do it.* Not crazy about it but those two rare events
   were spectacular to me.* His intent didn't matter to me.* He
   said it and it was good enough.* I can take over the
   interpretation from there and I choose only good ones. My
   20-something Niece believes I am transforming myself into a
   Wizard (which is where I got the idea from) and has in the past
   called me the Tootsie-Roll Owl.* [wait, no it was the Lollipop
   Owl... but she was young when she said it and didn't realize
   just how twisted that came across to me.* In that case, I took
   her intent and replaced my own twisted interpretation with
   hers.* Even now, I don't think she'd know (and that's not
   accurate anyway, he says in parenthesis)] My sister-in-law
   considers me "lost in his head". I'm ok with that as well.* I
   hear the intent but, choose to see it in a positive way.* Sticks
   'n Stones for life. After some embarrassing excessive
   expressiveness in my late teens/early 20s, I learned to curtail
   full expressiveness and allow it to help me focus because
   honestly, I'd write poetry all day long with words and people.*
   Heck, I still do.