I feel like I have been very neglectful and careless of this blog lately. I think it is because I am having a hard enough time sorting through things on my own to want to concentrate long enough to organize it all into a post. It's too much for twenty minutes of my time. Far too much.
My stepdad has finally left today. I applied for a job, scheduled an interview for today, but I didn't go. Also, M. finally asked me out (I don't remember whether I said that or not), and we went to lunch today, and though he did better than the first date we had two and half years ago, he still wasn't nearly the best sort of lunch companion. He talked all throughout the affair, and I didn't really get to say anything. He didn't talk about anything important whatsoever, or interesting. All I could think was that U. actually talks to me. He actually asks how I am, and seems interested, and listens. U. actually invites conversation, a back and forth sort of thing, with two participants. And then I go and think, well, that doesn't make much difference if I'm not attracted to either of them. And then, U. goes to boot camp in mid-July. And, a lot of people thought M. was gay. And sometimes, he kind of acts like he is. My mind is a little maze of pretzels and false lights and, what are those called, those illusions you see in the middle of a desert that aren't really there? I don't know. I don't understand myself. At all. I hate it, but that's it.
And then I think, this is my fault. I started this. I wouldn't be in this situation at all if I had never told M. that I like him. This would have never happened if I had remembered why I never continued trying to 'date' him two years ago. This would all be so much easier if I simply thought these things through, thoroughly, before I went and jumped off the deep end and assumed that I was head over heels for a guy that used to always annoy me, a guy who I feel a vague sense of pity for because he can't seem to understand the things he does wrong. A guy I never actually liked. Is that it?
Another case of "I like because I'm afraid I can't have." I only started to slowly 'like' him when I thought he didn't like me, right? I think that's what this is. A stupid, silly, jealous sort of possessiveness. It's ridiculous, it's selfish, it's horribly rude and cruel and mean. I don't like people who do this, I hate people who do this. And I went and did it myself. But we only see these things in retrospect, don't we?
What did I write in my notebook the day I "realized" he wouldn't make a move and ask me out? I think it was the last day of school, the day I decided "what the hell?" and went out with U. and some other friends. I took a bloody chance, and gave U. the impression that I like him. And maybe I did that night, under the damn stars. Maybe I did. I don't know. But I do know that intimacy scares me, makes me awkward, I tend to avoid it. And on a regular day, it's really bloody rare if I ever touch someone, on the hand, shoulder, hug, whatever. I never have actual human contact. Is that sad? Perhaps I shy away from it. I've often thought (and wondered), babies can't live without physical contact, so how do we, in this world? How do we?
I don't know. I like hugs, though. And when I hug a guy, I usually, really want a damn hug. But whenever I hugged M, he didn't have the right sense to it. Sure, it was long enough, but it wasn't the kind that gave me a sense of being held like I often want out of a hug. And U. He gives just the right kind of hug, but his, so far, have never, ever been long enough. He doesn't hold on long enough, not enough to make me feel better.
Anyway, in my notebook (and this will be long, I'm sorry), I wrote: (and here's me trying to work things out, all in this itty bitty, teeny tiny post (ironic, I know). So, sorry if it isn't organized, or if it's repetitive, I guess I'm trying to utilize what I've got to sort of understand what the hell is going on in my shadowed, complicated fucking head.)
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(5/29/09)
It's happened before, and everyone knows of it. Therefore, it would be irrelevant for me to ask you: Is it possible to fall for the wrong guy? Unrequited anything, yes it does exist. And it seems that is what I have done. Or, in a way, fallen too late. I've crashed to the ground. I forgot to check behind me first.
Oh well.
At least, with today being the last day of school (ever), I can hide. I can practice my expression of happiness, carefree and unaffected.
All I wanted was a hug, all I was was avoided. A single word, even if in the negative, would have been far better than this limbo, this wondering if he even read the letter or not.
Either way, he's too passive. So perhaps it's a good thing that nothing happened. I won't have to worry about being in a relationship where I might (potentially) be the only one who makes a move, the one who puts myself (my heart) on the line, and has to wait for him, wait and see - will he, or will he not? It would not be a very satisfactory relationship, that is for sure.
Nevertheless, it still hurts a little. He wanted a hug from one of my friends (while we were in the last period of our last day of school), all he wanted from me was a picture. But at least I feel numb, and not devastated. I decided to walk home rather than impose on anyone else's time today. I already felt like I was intruding everywhere. In the end, all I wanted to do, all I still want to do, is isolate myself. Go in the corner, and abandon them before they abandon me, before I can have the chance to feel resentful of their lack of attention.
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And just an ending note, I never got the time to hide. My stepdad lingered, and I never got any rest, and I never got a break from everyone else. My walk home was relaxing (if hot) and I got to feel a small sense of peace within myself. But - I never got the chance to hide. And I still have the guilty feeling that I've abandoned my health, I haven't exercised in at least a week or more, and that makes me feel even more awful and terrible. That last week of May feels a year ago, it seems like a whole other section of my life. And, though M. wrote to me (when he told me he still liked me) he said "I have never stopped falling for you. I have always cared for you" well, he doesn't convince me in the way he acts.
Sadly enough, the old saying is true, 'the actions make the man.' They also convince, and persuade, and reveal the actual truth. Shy or not, he honestly doesn't seem to act (in my eyes) like he likes me. He doesn't persuade me to believe it. He never shows any actual interest in me, in how I'm doing. A little bit over an email (that he likes me, not concern or interest in me as a person), maybe, but I'm just an idea to him, I think. And if he's gay (and I don't go around - ever - saying a guy is gay, this would be the first and only time I've ever actually done this), well, if he is gay, then I'm just the 'crush' he's hanging onto to convince himself he's straight, I'm the age-old idea, the one-time "I like you so much", that he can't let go of, for his own safety and peace of mind. And he simply doesn't want to be persecuted in his own mind, to believe he might have to restructure his entire process of thinking. IF that were true, would it explain why he's so uncomfortable around one of our friends (who is gay), would it explain his vague homophobia? Now I'm going overboard. I'm just saying, I don't think he likes me, I just think he thinks he likes me, if that makes any sense.
So I'll repeat my title. I'm not cruel, just lost in my own mind, my own world, and trying to make sense of it so I can get out alive. So, please, judge accordingly. I never mean to be mean, or selfish, or ambiguous, or confusing, or wavery and indecisive and so typically "woman" (as men seem to see it). I don't mean to be downright unintelligible or indescribably impossible to understand. I just can't figure anything out, I'm so goddamn lost. This shit is too confusing for me, and I don't exactly know anyone well enough, close enough, to spill this all onto. To get advice, to ask for help, to see if someone else can understand me (when I honestly can't). If I ever did, I'd be worried about their reaction, and absolutely guilty for performing what I like to call "word vomit" on an innocent passerby. If you've read all of this, an astounding feat I cannot begin to comprehend, then I'm, well, astounded, curious at your taste in reading, and slightly comforted that someone might read this (though entirely clueless as to your comprehension of what I've written, or your ending interest, or your opinion of me now). Wow, I write a lot. But, even though I have no clue who you are, or where you are, or what you're thinking, I'm still afraid that you might judge me unfavorably. That I might come out of this dissection in a harsh light, in a worse way. I don't want your bad opinion, and I don't even know who you are. That, too, is sad.
(sighs)
Another note, in my notebook, I wrote a while ago in response to some guy's statement of girls, and how they don't want to be figured out. Well, I wrote:
Correction - They don't like to feel vulnerable, and when their emotions are on display, they do. Men are pre-programmed, it seems, to not know (entirely) what to do in the face of emotion - real, devastating, heart-stopping, can't-go-on emotion. Men have that reputation of feeling lost or awkward, they fumble their way through anything. And the less careful they are, the more we're bound to get hurt. So for the sake of safety, usually where our hearts are concerned, we hide our emotions. We hide them, and hope some guy is sensitive enough to see them himself, for what they are, and handle with care, appropriately.
(deep sigh)
Any girl worth a guy's time simply wants to be understood. And usually, they don't even know what they're feeling themselves. Right? Or have I only generalized my gender based on my opinion? Who knows. Whatever.
Anyway. I think I've had enough thinking for the night. My head is hurting, looks like a headache. Time for what many like to call "responsibility." I think. Or maybe it's simply time to go to bed. To try to sleep. To try to stop thinking, and stop analyzing, and stop worrying and sinking myself in anxiety. The future is ambiguous, and completely indefinite. I cannot divine it, I know I should stop trying. Unfortunately, I'm not sure if I can. Well, instead of finishing this post, then, here's a poem I wrote yesterday, a poem that lay nebulously within my mind for about a week, ever since graduation. An action I truly performed is its subject . . . or actions. Nevertheless, I should get on with it, oughtn't I?
AN INTERVIEW
I compromised, in all the nagging,
(License, job, responsibility,
And that aching need to leave)
Got me a job, went to the DMV
Planned an interview with life.
What a rotten way to waste the sun
Summer's freedom spent in chains.
Compromise - such an evil thing
For a moment's peace of mind.
I just wanted to get away from here
I looked up tickets, ways to go
It was pricey, though, no matter what I did
Life abroad seemed a distant dream.
Responsibility is too harsh a fate
For dreamers just like me.
But without a job, how am I to pay
For the freedom to be free?
Anyway, I don't remember the day, it may have only been a couple of days ago, but I got online, determinedly, and looked up ways I might get out of this country (at least for the summer). I looked up internships, study abroad opportunities, ticket prices, trip prices, ways to get a passport, where to go, what would be best, how I might get into the Peace Corps (and where I might go). Who I might stay with, what countries looked most appealing, or were cheaper, to get to and stay at for a while. Some of the time, I was too young to even think about doing what I wanted to. It went on and on, for over an hour, two maybe. I looked up everything I could think of, and even just random search words. I think I even looked at the navy, at joining the military and getting shipped off to boot camp. What I could do there, how I might escape this disgusting situation I've created for myself. I couldn't see anything feasible at such short notice. I didn't have the money, I didn't have a passport, I didn't have the goddamn time. Everything is too far away, and too impossible to bring about for a person in my situation. I don't have any money, I'm too young, I'm too . . . female, I suppose you could say. It isn't safe for me to just set off cross country with less than a hundred dollars in my pocket, and no destination in mind. It just isn't feasible. I don't have connections, I don't know anyone, I can't do it. It makes me feel helpless, and makes me a little angry at myself, a useless sort of anger, that frustrated, can't do anything about, futile kind of anger.
So, instead, I'm stuck here. I'm stuck in this life, and this world, and this place. And I can't get out of it. At least, not responsibly. Ugh. I hate that, I hate that word and every single thing that it implies. It's rotten and ugly and disgusting and kills people's ambition countless times every day. Am I simply complaining? I don't know anymore. I don't know. I never did. I pretended, but I honestly don't. I wonder if I ever will?
And then I wonder, will I ever have the chance to meet the guy I've been pining for since before I even knew I wasn't complete without him? Will I meet someone in college that will make me wonder how I ever functioned without him? Will life provide the opportunity? Or will I walk around, still wondering, still confused, still looking for that perfect hug, that perfect lunch date, the right sort of concern and attention and conversation coupled with a face (vain and shallow as that sounds, life is that way) I can live with? Will I have to wonder forever?
Again, unanswerable. Only the future will know, and no one can interpret it's movements. Ambiguous and full of nothing but questions, opportunity, and even, well, hope. I'll have to wait for any of my questions to be answered. I can't learn without time, experience, and whatever else goes in the mixture.
In the meantime, I have to figure if I will go out with M. again, if I even want to. I have to see if maybe he needs time to familiarize. I have to see if time will make him something I might have patience with and (awful enough as it is) respect for. Time enough, and we'll see if I ever want to give him a chance. There is also the issue of U. But, again, I'm chin deep in shit, and still lying through my teeth, if I think I won't fuck that up too. Oh well.
So, I guess I'm done for the night. I think. (scoffs) Yes, I think. I fucking think too much, and will continue to think, right on into the whole phase of my "not thinking" while I try to sleep, while I try to function well enough to get on with things as they stand. (rolls eyes) And I will continue thinking right on until I go and make another impulsive, unwise move that serves for, and pretends to be, thinking.
This is seriously way too long of a post. I think that it probably contains about a month's thinking. Or is that just a week? I get confused so often . . . (winks) It also probably took you forever to read, or will, if you never read it, but skipped forward, which I wouldn't blame you for. (deep, long sigh) I'm amazed that my hands don't hurt. My wrist isn't aching at all. My knee hurts though. Well. Yeah.
If there is anything I haven't covered, or finished, or resolved the story of, I apologize. But, I'm too tired and annoyed with my excess rambling to want to read back over this whole post and fix anything. Verbose. Ha. Excessive.
Oh, one last thing, my father wrote to me, right? Two months to respond to my letter. I still haven't responded to his. I don't know how. I keep saying that I've completely forgot about it, but what if I'm avoiding it? I don't know how to deal with him. Conflicted. Yeah. Me? All the time.
So - Peace. Love. Contentment. Understanding.
Or rather: LIFE - and everything I seek. (rueful smile)
Ta. . . . oh, and rest your eyes. I know I need to. It's that pointy, needle-like feeling that is stabbing at my temple again. The one I try to duck and dodge from for no reason other than instinct. Obviously, you can't move away from something that is inside of you. I seem to forget that time and again. (deep sigh) Okay. Good night. And thank you, for whatever you may have thought. If I could have heard it at the time that you thought it, I'm sure it would have helped in some way. If I could simply work up the effort to tell my best friend these things, perhaps at the end of it, I might have a hug, and not a headache.
But, all I have is the stabbing, the wondering, the ceaseless questions, and another night alone ahead of me. No pity. Maybe sympathy.
Reality has never been my favorite story.
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