Hi, how are you? You wanna Cuddle :)?….. Sorry habit. Am I the only one who feels like shooting his self in the head after spending an hour interacting with the people available through online dating? No? Really? Everybody you say?
Its been awhile. Boredom. Its a bitch. I need to focus though and someone said this might help. I’m not gonna waste too much time with the details of whats happened since the last time I wrote. I learnt the second use of too, in place of to. Its an amount. It also stands in for “as well”. So anywhere you are describing an amount, such as above, where I stated “not gonna waste too much” you use “too” rather than “to”. Next week ill explain then vs than! (I wont actually, but utilizing these little tidbits of information will get you laid. Is that not sad?).
Details… My relationship ended. Shocked? Probably not. Hence the introduction. If you mass message “Hey 🙂 you wanna cuddle?” to every physically adequate woman available online in your local area, you will be amazed at the results. I am not getting a lot of sleep, because part of sleeping with someone different every day (sometimes two in day), requires dropping whatever you are doing, and being there when these women are available. My workout schedule, finances and school are all suffering as well.. and I probably have crabs.. I definitely have a headache. As well as a bad habit of stopping for three celebratory Mcdoubles at 3:30 am on the way home. Did you know they don’t serve Mcdoubles during breakfast? That means I have to be there before 3:50 am or I miss out. What the fuck is that McDonald’s? I think the habit itself has something to do with celebrating my metabolism after a successful night out. Lets just say you would fully hate me if you saw my body and also knew what I ate.
Trying to remember what the point of writing this was. It feels like there were things I thought I was wanting to write about but now contemplation of those same things for the sake of expression is causing cynicism and a little rage.
I suppose I should stick to the stated goal of organization. So. Finances. That is becoming an issue. However, I have a plan. Which already worked. I got a buddy to invest in a company for myself to run. Small renovations company. Now comes the follow-through. You may be surprised to find out, follow-through is not exactly my strong suit. I am actually writing this rather than designing a logo. Which brings me to another potential idea. Writing. Apparently I am quite good at it. Something about your being able to quite strongly feel the feelings that motivate my way of speaking. Despite my not being aware of these feelings myself. Outside of anger.
Just writing that last sentence caused anger. Except I don’t think that anger comes across the same way the rest of the feelings expressed do. If I reread what I’ve written, the sentence “Despite my not being aware of these feelings myself”, seems to be the only one void of whatever it is that makes my writing enjoyable. It is as if that sentence was for myself. An afterthought almost, not intended for the reader but potentially to imply superiority somehow. Which leads to my wondering if that sentence will have a reverse affect upon any individuals similar to myself, reading this. Would the rest appear false? With that one sentence resonating? Am I pissing him off? Good. I’d make you both submit.
Sorry..getting lost in the implications.
Writing. Its difficult. Segues.. boring. But (and stupid rules, such as not being allowed to start a sentence with but. Suck a dick English) somehow I know I will find her through writing. Or I guess I am aware, through my writing I can cause someone to fall in love with a version of myself they have constructed in their own minds. You give me what I want and we will call it love. That is a line from a song by a band called the Glorious Sons. Its the closest you will get to a source citation.
Here.. I wrote this. Years ago.
—– She turned her head. His breath stopped. He stumbled almost falling. He cursed his feet. He wanted to see her face. He needed to see if it was her. She continued forward and he continued after her, pushing people through the crowd. For her the crowd opened up, people smiled, often saying “Hello”. He had a much harder time. People seemed to close in and give him dirty looks. They knew.
He had to reach her, too much time had passed, it was almost over, had to see her face.
She was through the crowd now, walking into a park. This was it, it was almost over, in another 5 minutes, another opportunity would be wasted and he still wouldn’t know.
He pushed harder and started telling people to move. They fought back, keeping him surrounded. He lost sight of her as the people swarmed him. They started closing in on him, suffocating him. He felt the air build up in his lungs. He was ready to burst; he had no way out, no way forward. He gave up. His knees buckled, the only thing keeping him up was the people around him. His mind started to go, all he could see was black, and he could hear laughing.
Her, she was laughing. His eyes opened. He screamed. He burst through the people, through the crowd towards the park.
She was walking beside a pond, with her back towards him. She was so far ahead of him, there was no way he could reach her in time. He called out, he yelled her name. No sound came out of his mouth yet she heard him. She turned and looked at him. She smiled.
When she turned his heart stopped and he fell, his legs stopped, his breathing stopped. He went face first into the ground and again he could hear her laughing. He got up and she was looking at him. Then she pointed across the pond.
He looked where she was pointing and saw two geese together on the far side of the pond, with their necks wrapped together and their heads resting on each other’s backs.
He looked back to her and she was gone. He panicked, his eyes wildly searching, she had to be there. He had seen her face. He could not lose her now. The geese started honking, a loud mechanical honk, it kept going, getting louder and louder, until all you could hear was a single monotone buzz.
His eyes opened, he looked at the ceiling. He couldn’t remember her face.. —–
You may be able to see why I believe I would be able to get someone to think she could save me if that someone was able to just give me a hug.
I have lots of those. Excerpts I mean. Moments described one at a time. The one above was actually a dream. From before I met my now ex. From before I knew what I was. Which is funny because the way its written you would think I was expressing a need to be accepted in spite of what I was, which would have required knowing. It even seems to state that (what I am) as the cause of failure. Myself. As if I’m needing her to overcome myself. How overcoming myself will cost me her. The most haunting line being “No sound came out of his mouth yet she heard him”. If you can see that meaning something outside of “not only will I do what I am supposed to, but I will fail, and only because of who she is, will she know my failure to be irrelevant and respond with what I need” please, share. Note this occurs after first she saves me from myself.. and from you… she than shows me something and disappears. It angers me to think that was the role Penelope played.
Pathetic self loathing. Identifying self as cause for undesired reality. Punishing by negating responsibility to allow pre-built structures to fall into chaos. Awaiting salvation from serendipity. How pathetically human of me.
Yet the anger fails to motivate action. Instead rage builds and focus blurs. A few hours after that, I find myself in the bed of a random slut who let me into her house after simply saying… “Hey :), you wanna cuddle?”…then for a brief time all I am aware of is her skin on mine. I am at peace. Until it ends and everything rushes back in and I am left with three options. Cry. Break it so it cant feel anymore. Or let myself remember that I don’t have to remember. Except for one thing. The third option. Theres always madness