Voulez vous cocher avec moi, c’est soi
27 January 2009, 3:40 pm
Filed under:
My Explanations,
Random Thoughts,
Ranting,
Writing | Tags:
a lot,
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angry,
apparently,
back,
because,
being,
bored,
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can,
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comparing,
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done,
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endlessly,
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feeling,
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just a lot,
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looking,
me,
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rankles,
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stabbing,
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them,
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time,
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until,
very,
whenever,
word,
worryBeing angry and frustrated and sad about my own inadequacy is all peaches and cream, until I get bored with the routine. I am honestly very glad that I can feel miserable about it, because otherwise I’d worry that I was broken or something. The little stabby pains that trouble me whenever I think about how much I suck at life are really reassuring sometimes.
However, it gets old.
Yes, I know, I’m not as small or cute or (apparently) amusing as she is. And that rankles, just a lot. But what does it do to muse endlessly on it?
Maybe “engaging” is the word I’m looking for. She’s engaging all of the time. I only am when I feel like it.
But I’m done comparing myself. If I ever need a reassurance I’m human, I can think about them and feel the pang and then go back to normal life… but it’s like an addiction, you feel it once and get a little hooked. “Oooh (shudder), aren’t I pathetic? I’m so pretty and confident and intriguing and no one likes meeee!” is not the slogan I aim to present to the world.
So, fine. A kid I like I’m interested in has another girl in mind who I’m not going to bother openly competing against. I don’t want to make a fool out of myself being all seductive and acting differently because… because he likes someone else? We were getting along pretty well before I knew about her, we’ll get along fine for the rest of the time. No worries, no stress, and only occasionally with a little pinch of remorse at the lost chances.
And, I guess
26 January 2009, 11:13 pm
Filed under:
My Day,
Ranting | Tags:
after,
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amusement,
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Writing,
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wrongI suppose it was just a speculation of mine. You know, a thought. A random inconvenient fantastical idea, that floated in from nowhere. I wouldn’t sound so dramatic, but I’m practicing my writing for the stupid English Regents tomorrow.
But simply put, that means: I guess I just got my hopes up.
It wasn’t a big deal, realizing that, oh-hey, there goes a possibiolity of a fun time. Of course, nothing is really a big deal when it comes to me and guys. I don’t have big deals, or drama. I don’t get upset. It’s “whatever” and “it doesn’t matter” and “who will I take an interest in next?”
Right. Okay, so, who will it be.
I don’t want to think about that right now. I don’t really want to dwell on my failure as a girl, my failure at attractiveness, at witty repartee. I don’t ever like to sit and nurse a wound that will heal easily and soon.
But I don’t want to fail to notice my own sad attempts at femininity. The long blonde hair really does nothing for me, nor do the blue eyes, obscenely long lashes, curvy frame or even smile. Maybe it’s the laugh that turns them off, maybe my cheerfulness is just too obnoxious to behold for any length of time. Maybe the flirting was just that.
Sure. I can deal with that. I won’t think any more on the fact that I’m completely undesirable, too outspoken for my own good, and when the time is right to comment, I refrain. I refuse to pause any longer over my inadequacies as a determined but unsuccessful interested party.
So what if my laugh is too loud, my comments too sharp? So what if I say the wrong thing once or twice, or I’m less appealing than she is?
If I’m too big, I’m too big.
If I’m too smart, I’m too smart.
If I’m only a focus of amusement and flirtation, then I’d do better to focus my own attentions elsewhere.
But this could have been my chance. I let myself believe that, hey, this could be the rebound I’ve been searching for. The connection that pulled me out of ex-infested waters and into a lifeboat built with lighthearted gaiety and a less depressing spirit.
But it’s no big deal. I’ll get over it.
If I’m too romantic and hopeful, I’ve just got to suck it up.
Kick Drum Heart 