Useless
I told Mr. Blond a little of how I felt. Now I have to get up the courage to ask some more. Oh, and to ask his reaction to a few things I wrote about him. It still makes me feel useless. And I know damn well that all good things come to an end. I know it will happen...but I am impatient and I want to know when. Oh, well...
Friday, August 30, 2002
Monday, August 26, 2002
Some Wisdom
Another day, another beer, and how would it feel, if you weren't there anymore?
I feel like screaming in an echo chamber. I feel like crying so hard I barf. I feel like hiding in the forest. I feel like running away. And it's all for you...all for the pain that I drive myself to when I think of how I feel about you...or maybe I'm just thinking of myself in relation to your soul. I have a million and one questions to ask and a million and one statements to make and I just can't muster up the courage to tell you how I feel about anything. Didn't you know that's reserved for those few who've earned the privilege to hear me speak my mind? It's too soon for flowers and hopes, and never for me, this I am sure of. You speak of things that confuse you and cause conflict but those are things that I've mulled over and forgotten years ago. How can this be? It's the wisdom I tell you. So I will drive you to distraction, I will point the pretty girls your way, until you don't notice me anymore. This is how I have to be for I deserve nothing. Oh, I can love but I'm not one to be loved...it depends on how many hoops you want to jump through. Ten, twenty, thirty? A thousand? I am patient and I can wait forever for you to leave my presence, I will encourage it, I will throw nails in the road to puncture the tires. To know what it is to love me is to know the feeling of being hit in the chest with a truck. I do not put up walls; I carefully construct mazes that twist and wind and ultimately lead you back to point A. To love me is to be in a race of endurance...I will never give up this or miss an opportunity to disappoint, dismay, cause dislike. If you don't love me then I want you to hate me. A little sad, a little confused, but mostly bitter and dramatic. This is how I am. This is why. I must keep my distance lest I fall in love and think we mean something. So I will always drink up unhappy until I am alone, utterly alone, and there's no more hoops left in the closet.
Another day, another beer, and how would it feel, if you weren't there anymore?
I feel like screaming in an echo chamber. I feel like crying so hard I barf. I feel like hiding in the forest. I feel like running away. And it's all for you...all for the pain that I drive myself to when I think of how I feel about you...or maybe I'm just thinking of myself in relation to your soul. I have a million and one questions to ask and a million and one statements to make and I just can't muster up the courage to tell you how I feel about anything. Didn't you know that's reserved for those few who've earned the privilege to hear me speak my mind? It's too soon for flowers and hopes, and never for me, this I am sure of. You speak of things that confuse you and cause conflict but those are things that I've mulled over and forgotten years ago. How can this be? It's the wisdom I tell you. So I will drive you to distraction, I will point the pretty girls your way, until you don't notice me anymore. This is how I have to be for I deserve nothing. Oh, I can love but I'm not one to be loved...it depends on how many hoops you want to jump through. Ten, twenty, thirty? A thousand? I am patient and I can wait forever for you to leave my presence, I will encourage it, I will throw nails in the road to puncture the tires. To know what it is to love me is to know the feeling of being hit in the chest with a truck. I do not put up walls; I carefully construct mazes that twist and wind and ultimately lead you back to point A. To love me is to be in a race of endurance...I will never give up this or miss an opportunity to disappoint, dismay, cause dislike. If you don't love me then I want you to hate me. A little sad, a little confused, but mostly bitter and dramatic. This is how I am. This is why. I must keep my distance lest I fall in love and think we mean something. So I will always drink up unhappy until I am alone, utterly alone, and there's no more hoops left in the closet.
Sunday, August 25, 2002
Of Crack Whores And Other Things
I feel kind of flattered. The crack whore visited Mr. Blond the other day and he tried getting ahold of me to shoo her away. Maybe it's not all in my head after all.
I saw John at the Hipster Bar the other night. I actually talked to him. I hate full moons.
I had a beer with the Artist. It was sooo nice to talk to him seriously again. We had the best serious conversation last night. I miss him. He is a good friend and I love him to peices. I hope his life gets straightened out.
I found out something interesting about Beady Eyes. Heehhehehe. I'm going to call her bluff about something. Hehehehehe. I'm good at what I do.
I feel kind of flattered. The crack whore visited Mr. Blond the other day and he tried getting ahold of me to shoo her away. Maybe it's not all in my head after all.
I saw John at the Hipster Bar the other night. I actually talked to him. I hate full moons.
I had a beer with the Artist. It was sooo nice to talk to him seriously again. We had the best serious conversation last night. I miss him. He is a good friend and I love him to peices. I hope his life gets straightened out.
I found out something interesting about Beady Eyes. Heehhehehe. I'm going to call her bluff about something. Hehehehehe. I'm good at what I do.
Saturday, August 24, 2002
Just a Four AM Thought
I was reading the back of a tampon box. Right underneath the dire warnings about Toxic Shock Syndrome was a list of what a tampon was made out of (rolled cotton/polyester, cotton/polyester string, plastic). What did they choose to call this section? INGREDIENTS, of course. I am amused....
I was reading the back of a tampon box. Right underneath the dire warnings about Toxic Shock Syndrome was a list of what a tampon was made out of (rolled cotton/polyester, cotton/polyester string, plastic). What did they choose to call this section? INGREDIENTS, of course. I am amused....
Friday, August 23, 2002
What to realize...
I have just realized the hopelessness of my situation with Mr. Blond. Not that I didn't know it before or suspected that it would come to this, but I never dared to let myself think it.
I think I'm falling in love with him. I'm going to cry.
One
I don't say that "L" word lightly. Mostly my affection for anyone can be considered on the "like" level. That means I enjoy their company...and in the case of guys, I'd occasionally sleep with them. "Like" is a very comfortable place for me to be with someone; there are no strong emotional attachments, no real and binding obligations to that person. It's more of a friendship term. The Big "L", however, is a whole different story. It's "like", it's jealousy, it's being so comfortable it makes me nervous, it's insecurity, it's security, it's craziness, it's dreams, it's nightmares...it's everything. Because I don't just have emotions...I completely and intensely feel and live them. So to even express that the "L" word is a possibility takes a whole lot of courage. To actually say or think it requires the courage and trust that I don't readily give to myself, much less another human being.
Two
I'm trying to completely and totally convince myself that I'm not contemplating the "L" word. There's a funny thing that happens with me when that word comes up...I can find faults with people. Breezy infatuation doesn't lend itself to the time it takes to realize that someone is just a person with faults. But because this is me we're talking about, the "L" word only magnifies it. I refuse to think it. I can't think it: He's not my boyfriend...We're not dating...I'm not as interesting/intelligent as he is.... Because of these things, I have to stop myself from ever using that word to describe how I feel about him. He most likely does not feel the same way about me so I must remain silent so as not to look foolish and simple. It's also too intense to think about. I have to play calm and cool lest I do something so stupid that we couldn't be friends. It's happened before...twice. The first was my fault and I will suffer in silence because I don't have the courage to admit to my stupidity. The second wasn't my fault because one can't help how they feel about someone and it's only natural to warn them of what emotion is occurring. That was John. But John also figures into the first stupid thing I did. I don't just hate John; I hate myself for ever liking John. But it was more than "like". I refuse to go there...I should just stop thinking about it...which is hard, because once that "L" word appears, the torture begins anew.
Three
The "L" word makes me feel uncomfortable. I want to run and hide. My first reaction to this is to never speak to Mr. Blond again...to learn to ignore his presence (sound familiar?). It's not that I want to pretend he doesn't exist; I want him to pretend that I don't exist. No one in their right minds would love a crazy gargoyle like me. I'm downright ugly, mean, and cruel. (Yeah, that fault thing? I get that way about myself....) And the bitch of it is that this has absolutely nothing to do with the other person. It's all me and my horrible negative feelings. I feel so stupid when I get the feeling that the "L" word is possible...like I should know better than that or something. (Soundgarden: "Love's for everyone who isn't me".) I don't want to do this though. I don't want to run and hide. I don't want to feel stupid. ("So, what'cha thinking?" -- If you only knew.) I don't want to be frozen in fear over the Big "L". But I am. I am scared, petrified, terrified...and I can't seem to shake it. I can't even discuss it with anyone because I get that scared. I feel like running. I feel like doing something that would force a total rejection. At least then I'd be able to deal with that...rejection. That's more comforting...that's the thing I know best and would rather deal with than the Big "L". But it's way too late to pretend to be trivial. I've gone too far to pretend to be the charming Bar Mouse. And I also hate myself for that...for putting myself into a corner like this. How did I get in this situation?
Bar Mouse. That's how. And it finally burned me.
I thought that I'd take a stab at Mr. Blond. It wasn't successful, of course, but it was worth a try. After all, if it didn't work, there would always be another. What did I have to loose? TS -- the one who was seventeen years older than me -- wasn't around as much and I was getting annoyed with his...opinions. I didn't quite believe the same things he did but since it wasn't going to get anywhere near serious (it was just a fling, after all), I wasn't going to express anything that smacked of my own opinion. So it eventually burned out, which I expected and didn't much care about. Time to move on and the target was Mr. Blond. A shot in the dark. Curse me for picking out a decent guy. A decent, intelligent, sweet, evil boy. I could care less that nothing happened. I was happy that there was a person who was actually smart. (Cosmic? Scary Liar? Beady Eyes? Cat Eyes?...the list goes on. Trivia is nice, but it doesn't take the place of real thought. That's why I liked drinking with the Artist. We were just friends, drinking and talking, no sex or anything. That was nice.) Curse me for being attracted to intelligence (and a black trenchcoat). I wanted to kiss him but didn't because, well, I genuninely liked him. And I know myself well enough that he would be a type I'd fall in love with, and that's not what I was after. I tried to pick up other guys and it just wasn't working. I wanted to get laid. But then I spent more and more time with Mr. Blond and now I'm in this quagmire. The sad thing about it -- what makes this so hopeless -- is that I've been wanting a serious relationship again and beginning to piece myself back together to do it. I wasn't expecting anything like this to happen. I wasn't thinking that I'd be falling into Love's trap this soon after deciding that dammit, I want a real boyfriend. But it's not real, I have to keep telling myself. (See number Two above.) It's just one of those quasi-dating relationships again. AGAIN! Did I not just swear those off? And from what I gather, he doesn't feel this way about me. That just compounds the hopelessness of all of this.
I just wonder when the moment of indecision becomes the moment of decision. Which side of the coin will it be....?
I have just realized the hopelessness of my situation with Mr. Blond. Not that I didn't know it before or suspected that it would come to this, but I never dared to let myself think it.
I think I'm falling in love with him. I'm going to cry.
One
I don't say that "L" word lightly. Mostly my affection for anyone can be considered on the "like" level. That means I enjoy their company...and in the case of guys, I'd occasionally sleep with them. "Like" is a very comfortable place for me to be with someone; there are no strong emotional attachments, no real and binding obligations to that person. It's more of a friendship term. The Big "L", however, is a whole different story. It's "like", it's jealousy, it's being so comfortable it makes me nervous, it's insecurity, it's security, it's craziness, it's dreams, it's nightmares...it's everything. Because I don't just have emotions...I completely and intensely feel and live them. So to even express that the "L" word is a possibility takes a whole lot of courage. To actually say or think it requires the courage and trust that I don't readily give to myself, much less another human being.
Two
I'm trying to completely and totally convince myself that I'm not contemplating the "L" word. There's a funny thing that happens with me when that word comes up...I can find faults with people. Breezy infatuation doesn't lend itself to the time it takes to realize that someone is just a person with faults. But because this is me we're talking about, the "L" word only magnifies it. I refuse to think it. I can't think it: He's not my boyfriend...We're not dating...I'm not as interesting/intelligent as he is.... Because of these things, I have to stop myself from ever using that word to describe how I feel about him. He most likely does not feel the same way about me so I must remain silent so as not to look foolish and simple. It's also too intense to think about. I have to play calm and cool lest I do something so stupid that we couldn't be friends. It's happened before...twice. The first was my fault and I will suffer in silence because I don't have the courage to admit to my stupidity. The second wasn't my fault because one can't help how they feel about someone and it's only natural to warn them of what emotion is occurring. That was John. But John also figures into the first stupid thing I did. I don't just hate John; I hate myself for ever liking John. But it was more than "like". I refuse to go there...I should just stop thinking about it...which is hard, because once that "L" word appears, the torture begins anew.
Three
The "L" word makes me feel uncomfortable. I want to run and hide. My first reaction to this is to never speak to Mr. Blond again...to learn to ignore his presence (sound familiar?). It's not that I want to pretend he doesn't exist; I want him to pretend that I don't exist. No one in their right minds would love a crazy gargoyle like me. I'm downright ugly, mean, and cruel. (Yeah, that fault thing? I get that way about myself....) And the bitch of it is that this has absolutely nothing to do with the other person. It's all me and my horrible negative feelings. I feel so stupid when I get the feeling that the "L" word is possible...like I should know better than that or something. (Soundgarden: "Love's for everyone who isn't me".) I don't want to do this though. I don't want to run and hide. I don't want to feel stupid. ("So, what'cha thinking?" -- If you only knew.) I don't want to be frozen in fear over the Big "L". But I am. I am scared, petrified, terrified...and I can't seem to shake it. I can't even discuss it with anyone because I get that scared. I feel like running. I feel like doing something that would force a total rejection. At least then I'd be able to deal with that...rejection. That's more comforting...that's the thing I know best and would rather deal with than the Big "L". But it's way too late to pretend to be trivial. I've gone too far to pretend to be the charming Bar Mouse. And I also hate myself for that...for putting myself into a corner like this. How did I get in this situation?
Bar Mouse. That's how. And it finally burned me.
I thought that I'd take a stab at Mr. Blond. It wasn't successful, of course, but it was worth a try. After all, if it didn't work, there would always be another. What did I have to loose? TS -- the one who was seventeen years older than me -- wasn't around as much and I was getting annoyed with his...opinions. I didn't quite believe the same things he did but since it wasn't going to get anywhere near serious (it was just a fling, after all), I wasn't going to express anything that smacked of my own opinion. So it eventually burned out, which I expected and didn't much care about. Time to move on and the target was Mr. Blond. A shot in the dark. Curse me for picking out a decent guy. A decent, intelligent, sweet, evil boy. I could care less that nothing happened. I was happy that there was a person who was actually smart. (Cosmic? Scary Liar? Beady Eyes? Cat Eyes?...the list goes on. Trivia is nice, but it doesn't take the place of real thought. That's why I liked drinking with the Artist. We were just friends, drinking and talking, no sex or anything. That was nice.) Curse me for being attracted to intelligence (and a black trenchcoat). I wanted to kiss him but didn't because, well, I genuninely liked him. And I know myself well enough that he would be a type I'd fall in love with, and that's not what I was after. I tried to pick up other guys and it just wasn't working. I wanted to get laid. But then I spent more and more time with Mr. Blond and now I'm in this quagmire. The sad thing about it -- what makes this so hopeless -- is that I've been wanting a serious relationship again and beginning to piece myself back together to do it. I wasn't expecting anything like this to happen. I wasn't thinking that I'd be falling into Love's trap this soon after deciding that dammit, I want a real boyfriend. But it's not real, I have to keep telling myself. (See number Two above.) It's just one of those quasi-dating relationships again. AGAIN! Did I not just swear those off? And from what I gather, he doesn't feel this way about me. That just compounds the hopelessness of all of this.
I just wonder when the moment of indecision becomes the moment of decision. Which side of the coin will it be....?
Sunday, August 18, 2002
Those Things To Say
Beady Eyes just doesn't get it. Neither does Cat Eyes. I don't understand what their problems are. First, a guy's looks have absolutely NOTHING to do with his personality. Second, if he looks good but he's a fucking jerk, then DON'T try to start a relationship with him. He's only good for trying to get into his pants. Third, sex does NOT equal anything...it's just sex. A physical reaction. It has nothing to do with love or like or anything other than horniness and getting laid. Granted, when it's with someone that you actually like, then it's rather pleasant and feels better than anything. But it is not the sum of a real honest to god relationship. Grr. Who are these emotional simpletons I hang out with? I'll never know.....
Beady Eyes just doesn't get it. Neither does Cat Eyes. I don't understand what their problems are. First, a guy's looks have absolutely NOTHING to do with his personality. Second, if he looks good but he's a fucking jerk, then DON'T try to start a relationship with him. He's only good for trying to get into his pants. Third, sex does NOT equal anything...it's just sex. A physical reaction. It has nothing to do with love or like or anything other than horniness and getting laid. Granted, when it's with someone that you actually like, then it's rather pleasant and feels better than anything. But it is not the sum of a real honest to god relationship. Grr. Who are these emotional simpletons I hang out with? I'll never know.....
Friday, August 16, 2002
Of Just Randomness...
I overheard a conversation in the bar the other night, when I was drinking alone. It was just after the incredible tale of Superhero Bartender who cornered a bunch of punks vandalizing a person's yard:
Woman: I don't get it.
Man: I'm asking how you feel about us.
W: What do you mean by that?
M: There's a word that describes it. Exclusitivity.
W: Oh. (Takes a sip of her drink. There's a moment of silence.) I like you a lot. I really like you.
(That's not what he asked, but that was an interesting answer.)
M: But how would you feel?
W: I'd be jealous. I'm the jealous type. That's because I like you. A lot.
M: So then what about us?
W: *sighs* I know what you're getting at. I don't know if I want to talk about it. Would it be great? Yeah, it would. But you have to understand that I have trouble trusting people enough with anything. Do I want that? Yes I do. Remember? I said I was tired of going home with other guys from the bar and that I was looking for a boyfriend. I was serious about that. The thing is, if that's not what you want, then I don't know how to react. You're asking me these things without telling me how you feel about them. So what then? We hint around until it becomes pointless? Or do we actually tell each other what our expectations are? I prefer to have a boyfriend, I would like it to be you, but if you just want to get in my pants, then just say so. I'm not stupid. I mean, of course I'll be hurt if you just want to get laid, because I do like you more than that, but if it's not that serious between us, then I have no rights to really say anything. Not my place. I don't get jealous very often and when I do, it more than makes up for what I treat with indifference. And this would make me jealous. So I'd back off so as not to offend you. But I don't know what you're intentions are when you ask me these things. Why don't you tell me what you're thinking about that?
But before I could hear the rest (I was bored, after all), Beady Eyes came in and sat down next to me. Oh, well, at least maybe I could squeeze somewhat of a poem out of that. Hell, I did when it was two people talking about honesty in serious tones to the point that you knew one was going to break up with the other. Sometimes the bar is rather amusing.
I overheard a conversation in the bar the other night, when I was drinking alone. It was just after the incredible tale of Superhero Bartender who cornered a bunch of punks vandalizing a person's yard:
Woman: I don't get it.
Man: I'm asking how you feel about us.
W: What do you mean by that?
M: There's a word that describes it. Exclusitivity.
W: Oh. (Takes a sip of her drink. There's a moment of silence.) I like you a lot. I really like you.
(That's not what he asked, but that was an interesting answer.)
M: But how would you feel?
W: I'd be jealous. I'm the jealous type. That's because I like you. A lot.
M: So then what about us?
W: *sighs* I know what you're getting at. I don't know if I want to talk about it. Would it be great? Yeah, it would. But you have to understand that I have trouble trusting people enough with anything. Do I want that? Yes I do. Remember? I said I was tired of going home with other guys from the bar and that I was looking for a boyfriend. I was serious about that. The thing is, if that's not what you want, then I don't know how to react. You're asking me these things without telling me how you feel about them. So what then? We hint around until it becomes pointless? Or do we actually tell each other what our expectations are? I prefer to have a boyfriend, I would like it to be you, but if you just want to get in my pants, then just say so. I'm not stupid. I mean, of course I'll be hurt if you just want to get laid, because I do like you more than that, but if it's not that serious between us, then I have no rights to really say anything. Not my place. I don't get jealous very often and when I do, it more than makes up for what I treat with indifference. And this would make me jealous. So I'd back off so as not to offend you. But I don't know what you're intentions are when you ask me these things. Why don't you tell me what you're thinking about that?
But before I could hear the rest (I was bored, after all), Beady Eyes came in and sat down next to me. Oh, well, at least maybe I could squeeze somewhat of a poem out of that. Hell, I did when it was two people talking about honesty in serious tones to the point that you knew one was going to break up with the other. Sometimes the bar is rather amusing.
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