I really wish that I could be with the right person, but it seems I don't pick her. I'm back to what I like or what I seem to like. Surely beauty can be the path to love, but I seem to want the added complication of drama. I seem to want her to be difficult, call me crying, call me to use me, say she's going to delete her Facebook, send me odd-mails and texts that I can't understand, or ever fathom what she means half the time. I love that mystery, the not knowing what she's going to do or say. I'm not talking about one person when I say all of these things, but I am using specific examples in talking about women that I am attracted to.
Why isn't dependability attractive? Dependably random is what I like. You don't want me, you do, I never know. That's so attractive to me and that's not healthy maybe. But maybe that's just how it is. I don't always know how I feel about you either sometimes. I like being frustrated, that's intoxicating, but it wears me out. It feels like work. I think I would work, though, because I want someone, something going on in my life. Maybe I want the difficult because I don't want anyone steady in my life because it would be too much pressure. I want something that shouldn't work out because I don't feel worthy of it.
I want to be worthy of her or someone. I know some women who wouldn't be with me because I don't have any money or won't ever have a lot of it. Again, who knows, maybe I will have money; I certainly would like to have money and I think I could. I am a creative person with a large imagination. I could have a lot of money one day. But I had a woman tell me she wouldn't be with me because I didn't or wouldn't have money. I suppose that's fair. Financial security is important.
Perhaps my solution is to just make a lot of money. I don't think so, though. I'll find a way to be healthy in a relationship and let the money sort itself out.
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Journal Post 9/18/2012 When Helping is a Hindrance
You're the one I long to talk to: the difficult one, the one with a problem. You with your fickle nature, only calling me when you need me. Otherwise, you don't know I'm alive. I wait for your call still. I wait with bated breath. I don't like to hang on your every word, but your voice is so sexy. Even when her voice may not be sexy, it's the need that I crave. She needs me to make things right; she needs me to solve a problem, or just to listen.
Why do I want to be the one who rescues you? Why do I need to have someone to rescue? Surely, when the dragons are slain in this case, I will not be the victorious knight, but the one left to pick up the pieces of my life after I stopped it to solve the broken pieces of yours. I like to help, I do, but maybe I should help myself. I can't be that person, though, who doesn't answer when you call. I want to be there for someone when there's no one else to talk to in the middle of the night.
I really want someone though with whom I can have an intelligent conversation. Someone who can recommend a book, or argue that Faulkner is a hack, or tell me something about Dante, even though I've read him more than you. I want to be around brilliant people who make me want to be a better person, scholar, reader, and human being. I want someone to whom I am drawn to for her mind, a person who I could have telepathic conversations with her disembodied brain in a jar and share the intimate knowledge of a good poem.
I can't lie and say beauty doesn't matter to me, because I am drawn to beautiful women, it's true. But I think at the end of the day, or a year, or a decade, it won't matter how much I like looking into your eyes, though I want to forever; the thing that will really matter is what we talk about before and after we've made love. This love of speaking and reading is not to say that I don't enjoy sex, because I do. I'm merely saying that there are more pleasures in life than those of our flesh.
Hours I've spent trying to solve this woman or that, and when it really comes down to it, I just like listening. I get angry at her specifically because she told me I was going to end up alone. She believes, perhaps erroneously, perhaps completely justifiably, that I am a slave to superficial pursuits of physical beauty and youth. If I save myself for the best I want to offer myself to, I will miss on someone who may have been lesser for me? Perhaps it is justifiable to say that I should make myself more available, but as to my standards, I pledge to maintain them.
Often I am a mass of insecurities, but I know that I am an exemplary person. This is not ego talking or vanity: I just know myself and the kind of person I am. Certainly I am duplicitous in some aspects of my personality. The aforementioned insecurity comes to mind. I attempt to hide this from anyone I can, but I fear it rears its ugly head in over-devotion, jealousy, and self-derision. I'm more of a hipster perhaps than I care to admit, though I often poke fun at those who call themselves such. I want to be the one who people come to and ask comic book questions, yet I act annoyed when everyone does so. I like being that guy who is the expert and I like being the one who's read that book that no one has heard about. I like my grey canvas shoes and I pride myself with my esoteric knowledge of things no one else cares to know.
Having said that I sometimes aim to deceive, I will continue my point to say I do so less than others, at least in my estimation. I try to see the other side, or your side rather, of every issue. Sometimes my side should be the only one that matters. In that sense I should practice selfishness and be more used to it. Look out for myself and not try to solve all of your problems. My balance in wanting to see all sides of an issue can lead to indecision and I despise that aspect of myself. I want to consider everything, but I also want to act and quicker than I do.
I still get angry at your suggestion when I hear you say that he will end up alone, you know it, because you said the same about me. A person doesn't know anything about the future for certain any better than I know the numbers of hairs on my head. Perhaps there is a mystical god or book that knows this number, but I can't know it, at least on this side of reality. You don't know how I will end up any more than you know everything that will happen in the stock market tomorrow: you just can't. Perhaps I am holding out for a better person, but it's because I deserve one.
Why do I want to be the one who rescues you? Why do I need to have someone to rescue? Surely, when the dragons are slain in this case, I will not be the victorious knight, but the one left to pick up the pieces of my life after I stopped it to solve the broken pieces of yours. I like to help, I do, but maybe I should help myself. I can't be that person, though, who doesn't answer when you call. I want to be there for someone when there's no one else to talk to in the middle of the night.
I really want someone though with whom I can have an intelligent conversation. Someone who can recommend a book, or argue that Faulkner is a hack, or tell me something about Dante, even though I've read him more than you. I want to be around brilliant people who make me want to be a better person, scholar, reader, and human being. I want someone to whom I am drawn to for her mind, a person who I could have telepathic conversations with her disembodied brain in a jar and share the intimate knowledge of a good poem.
I can't lie and say beauty doesn't matter to me, because I am drawn to beautiful women, it's true. But I think at the end of the day, or a year, or a decade, it won't matter how much I like looking into your eyes, though I want to forever; the thing that will really matter is what we talk about before and after we've made love. This love of speaking and reading is not to say that I don't enjoy sex, because I do. I'm merely saying that there are more pleasures in life than those of our flesh.
Hours I've spent trying to solve this woman or that, and when it really comes down to it, I just like listening. I get angry at her specifically because she told me I was going to end up alone. She believes, perhaps erroneously, perhaps completely justifiably, that I am a slave to superficial pursuits of physical beauty and youth. If I save myself for the best I want to offer myself to, I will miss on someone who may have been lesser for me? Perhaps it is justifiable to say that I should make myself more available, but as to my standards, I pledge to maintain them.
Often I am a mass of insecurities, but I know that I am an exemplary person. This is not ego talking or vanity: I just know myself and the kind of person I am. Certainly I am duplicitous in some aspects of my personality. The aforementioned insecurity comes to mind. I attempt to hide this from anyone I can, but I fear it rears its ugly head in over-devotion, jealousy, and self-derision. I'm more of a hipster perhaps than I care to admit, though I often poke fun at those who call themselves such. I want to be the one who people come to and ask comic book questions, yet I act annoyed when everyone does so. I like being that guy who is the expert and I like being the one who's read that book that no one has heard about. I like my grey canvas shoes and I pride myself with my esoteric knowledge of things no one else cares to know.
Having said that I sometimes aim to deceive, I will continue my point to say I do so less than others, at least in my estimation. I try to see the other side, or your side rather, of every issue. Sometimes my side should be the only one that matters. In that sense I should practice selfishness and be more used to it. Look out for myself and not try to solve all of your problems. My balance in wanting to see all sides of an issue can lead to indecision and I despise that aspect of myself. I want to consider everything, but I also want to act and quicker than I do.
I still get angry at your suggestion when I hear you say that he will end up alone, you know it, because you said the same about me. A person doesn't know anything about the future for certain any better than I know the numbers of hairs on my head. Perhaps there is a mystical god or book that knows this number, but I can't know it, at least on this side of reality. You don't know how I will end up any more than you know everything that will happen in the stock market tomorrow: you just can't. Perhaps I am holding out for a better person, but it's because I deserve one.
Saturday, September 15, 2012
Journal Post 9/15/2012 Keeping to Yourself
My father likes to rent out rooms in his house. Hey, it's his house, but I have to deal with the tenants when this happens. Usually, things are okay, except for the fact that his house is not very big. I am thankful to be living here for no rent at the moment as I go to school. I can't complain about that obviously. I do think my dad could have a better attitude about the tenants, though.
One of the guys who lives here keeps to himself. My dad seems to have this expectation that people should talk to him all the time and be social. I would say he's even like that with his adult children, perhaps more justifiably so. But as to his tenant, he is friends with the guy, but if he wants to keep to himself and not hold a conversation on some days, and if he's paying his rent (and this particular tenant even pays the cable bill), I say let the guy be.
Please don't misunderstand: I like being around people myself. I do like some alone time, though. I've have people tell me that when I get romantically attached to someone, I get too attached. I'm not sure that's a fair assessment, but maybe it happens. I like to be around people who I like, but I like some alone time, too. I think when you first get to know someone, there is that desire to really get to know them. Also, when someone seems to get you, it can be amazing. "Wow, you understand a little bit of what's going on up here. You must have telepathy or something." It can be intoxicating to have someone understand you. It really can.
I always told myself that I wanted to get to this place where I was okay with myself before I could be with anyone else, but maybe you never get to that place as a human being, at least not completely. I am pretty happy with who I am. I think I'm pretty mellow, but I can get angry. I can be insecure, but I think I feel better about myself now than I ever have in my life. I know that I am a pretty exceptional person without being too high on myself. I think that in the back of my mind I still find it amazing when someone thinks I'm cool. "You like me? What's wrong with you?"
The last several Saturday nights or so, I've been hanging out with some friends. They are all younger than me and I think being with them keeps me young. But tonight I am by myself, writing papers for school, blogging, reading, surfing around on Facebook, and I am enjoying myself. Maybe I'm enjoying keeping to myself tonight, too.
One of the guys who lives here keeps to himself. My dad seems to have this expectation that people should talk to him all the time and be social. I would say he's even like that with his adult children, perhaps more justifiably so. But as to his tenant, he is friends with the guy, but if he wants to keep to himself and not hold a conversation on some days, and if he's paying his rent (and this particular tenant even pays the cable bill), I say let the guy be.
Please don't misunderstand: I like being around people myself. I do like some alone time, though. I've have people tell me that when I get romantically attached to someone, I get too attached. I'm not sure that's a fair assessment, but maybe it happens. I like to be around people who I like, but I like some alone time, too. I think when you first get to know someone, there is that desire to really get to know them. Also, when someone seems to get you, it can be amazing. "Wow, you understand a little bit of what's going on up here. You must have telepathy or something." It can be intoxicating to have someone understand you. It really can.
I always told myself that I wanted to get to this place where I was okay with myself before I could be with anyone else, but maybe you never get to that place as a human being, at least not completely. I am pretty happy with who I am. I think I'm pretty mellow, but I can get angry. I can be insecure, but I think I feel better about myself now than I ever have in my life. I know that I am a pretty exceptional person without being too high on myself. I think that in the back of my mind I still find it amazing when someone thinks I'm cool. "You like me? What's wrong with you?"
The last several Saturday nights or so, I've been hanging out with some friends. They are all younger than me and I think being with them keeps me young. But tonight I am by myself, writing papers for school, blogging, reading, surfing around on Facebook, and I am enjoying myself. Maybe I'm enjoying keeping to myself tonight, too.
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
journal post 9/10/12 Summer Days
This summer seemed so thrilling and it happened so quick how fast I got to know you. I think I scared you a bit and it scared me, too. I know it was just online and not in person as much, but still. I suppose it could have been anyone on the other side, though it seemed like you. I got to know you so quick and opened up to you. I could be out at a bar and still I wanted to talk to you and open up to you. Yes, you're pretty and hot and all of that, but I just wanted to talk to you. I told you things that I hadn't told anyone in years. I mean these are things that were so personal, like from when I was a little Gothic teenager, and they seemed like so long ago, but it hurt then, of course.
I even held back things we had in common because it was scaring me how much we had in common. Yes, I like How to Deal, too, but that seems like a line. I had a poster of it until a little before I met you. It was such a neat little movie. I liked Oscar Wilde before, too, though not as much as when you had me finally read Dorian Gray. It's really a beautiful book. I feel like I've been having this completely intellectual affair with you (in my mind) and maybe I have. You recommend these books and I read them, sometimes immediately, or eventually when I can, and I try to be fair and say, "Hey, maybe I won't like this," but it seems I usually do. Wuthering Heights was a struggle at first, but wow, when I got into it, it was beautiful.
I knew we weren't dating (I never even saw you this summer), but I was thinking about you a lot. I wondered how you were doing, I would get jealous when I knew you were dating or hanging out with other guys, and the highlights of my days and weeks were chatting with you online. I had a little crush on you before, but now it was different. It went to another place for me and I cared about you. Like I told you, I hadn't had feelings for anyone in a long time and having them at all for you (even the little puppy dog crush I had earlier this year and starting late last year) gave me an inkling that I could still feel that way. But now...now it seemed you were on my mind in a different way.
Then I got to a point where I realized (or thought) that it wasn't going to happen. I had tried a few times to ask you out before and I guess I was flirty enough. You told me you weren't the girl for me, I didn't know you, you cancelled the one time we did try to set a date up. These things happened at different times, but it seemed to add up to things not going the way I wanted and I had to realize that (or so everyone in my life was telling me). Then there came the time I was having a bad day and I thought to e-mail you about it. It wasn't because I was trying to make a move or get you to talk to me or get you to feel sorry for me. It was because I wanted to talk to someone I cared about who might understand me. It felt weird to be messaging you about this totally normal thing like having a bad day. I think maybe I had tried to mask the fact that I have bad days, because I like to think I have a good attitude, and I was putting my best foot forward, obviously.
I do recover from things quickly these days, and this particular bad day was no exception. I read a book by the dying light of the sun and felt a million times better. I felt like I was in a good place with you, too, and I told you I was feeling better. But then the next day, you officially started dating someone. I told you I was happy for you, but maybe I was lying. I was happy for you, of course I was: I care about you. But I wasn't happy you were with him. I wrote a few angry poems and wished I hadn't met you and all that good stuff. You were never my girlfriend, but darned if I didn't want you to be. It was a bad couple of weeks.
I was still nice to you, though, because I can't not be. You're not my girl, but I care about you still. Then I saw you in person a few weeks later. You kind of sneaked up on me, but I was glad to see you. I hoped I was playing it a little cool, but I was so nervous to see you again, you have no idea. We talked and caught up and you recommended another book (I got it several days later and am reading some of it, of course). I think if I fake being cool long enough I might start to feel it a little, but I lose it all when I see you, usually. When I saw you again, you were that smart little woman who knew beauty when she saw it and thought the rest of the world should know about it, too, though I think there are things that not everyone need know about, like the story you shared with me that not many have read by Wilde. To conclude, I just like the world better knowing someone like you is in it and I wouldn't change having met you for anything.
I even held back things we had in common because it was scaring me how much we had in common. Yes, I like How to Deal, too, but that seems like a line. I had a poster of it until a little before I met you. It was such a neat little movie. I liked Oscar Wilde before, too, though not as much as when you had me finally read Dorian Gray. It's really a beautiful book. I feel like I've been having this completely intellectual affair with you (in my mind) and maybe I have. You recommend these books and I read them, sometimes immediately, or eventually when I can, and I try to be fair and say, "Hey, maybe I won't like this," but it seems I usually do. Wuthering Heights was a struggle at first, but wow, when I got into it, it was beautiful.
I knew we weren't dating (I never even saw you this summer), but I was thinking about you a lot. I wondered how you were doing, I would get jealous when I knew you were dating or hanging out with other guys, and the highlights of my days and weeks were chatting with you online. I had a little crush on you before, but now it was different. It went to another place for me and I cared about you. Like I told you, I hadn't had feelings for anyone in a long time and having them at all for you (even the little puppy dog crush I had earlier this year and starting late last year) gave me an inkling that I could still feel that way. But now...now it seemed you were on my mind in a different way.
Then I got to a point where I realized (or thought) that it wasn't going to happen. I had tried a few times to ask you out before and I guess I was flirty enough. You told me you weren't the girl for me, I didn't know you, you cancelled the one time we did try to set a date up. These things happened at different times, but it seemed to add up to things not going the way I wanted and I had to realize that (or so everyone in my life was telling me). Then there came the time I was having a bad day and I thought to e-mail you about it. It wasn't because I was trying to make a move or get you to talk to me or get you to feel sorry for me. It was because I wanted to talk to someone I cared about who might understand me. It felt weird to be messaging you about this totally normal thing like having a bad day. I think maybe I had tried to mask the fact that I have bad days, because I like to think I have a good attitude, and I was putting my best foot forward, obviously.
I do recover from things quickly these days, and this particular bad day was no exception. I read a book by the dying light of the sun and felt a million times better. I felt like I was in a good place with you, too, and I told you I was feeling better. But then the next day, you officially started dating someone. I told you I was happy for you, but maybe I was lying. I was happy for you, of course I was: I care about you. But I wasn't happy you were with him. I wrote a few angry poems and wished I hadn't met you and all that good stuff. You were never my girlfriend, but darned if I didn't want you to be. It was a bad couple of weeks.
I was still nice to you, though, because I can't not be. You're not my girl, but I care about you still. Then I saw you in person a few weeks later. You kind of sneaked up on me, but I was glad to see you. I hoped I was playing it a little cool, but I was so nervous to see you again, you have no idea. We talked and caught up and you recommended another book (I got it several days later and am reading some of it, of course). I think if I fake being cool long enough I might start to feel it a little, but I lose it all when I see you, usually. When I saw you again, you were that smart little woman who knew beauty when she saw it and thought the rest of the world should know about it, too, though I think there are things that not everyone need know about, like the story you shared with me that not many have read by Wilde. To conclude, I just like the world better knowing someone like you is in it and I wouldn't change having met you for anything.
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