Kick Drum Heart

Okay, so. The boy troubles?

I guess they’re gone, although if anything else happens I’m sure I’ll be motivated to write about it. But, hey, if he can barely look at me, I think I can figure it out.

Maybe I’m being neurotic and fatalistic and dramatic. I probably am, in fact. I am just uncomfortable, since, after I explained myself, he said he needed time to think.

Okay, I’m cool with that. After all, I’d need to think about it, too. Even though
a.) I’m not too ugly
b.) I’m not too fat
c.) I’m decent to talk to if you get me going, and
d.) I really didn’t think I suck that much,
I’ll give him thinking time. I’m the kind of person, who, when faced with the possibility of change, likes to sit and weigh the posiitives and negatives of the situation. So I get it. I really get it.

But, seriously. If his first response is “just let me think about it,” maybe… maybe there’s something else. Someone else. Granted I pretty much sprang it on him. Christ, I’m dumb.

And then Sarah tells me there are other girls he’s been talking to. And not like just-talking girls, either. I’m talking about the kind of girls that do the talk that I’d been doing. Which is to say the “I like you” kind.

So, what is he, some kind of playa? How funny. But how annoying.

And crap! It’s not as if I don’t have a life, I do. I’m crazy-busy allllll the time. And I’m willing to sacrifice a slice of that crammed time for a boy I barely know who’s caught my attention. Do I want to date him? Nooo. Do I want to have my way with him?

That’s so outrageous, and probably the answer to that is no, too. But I should be able to add some frivolity to my life, shouldn’t I? A little fun.

And damn it, I just have to say that if– yet again— I am the second option, or third, or fourth, I am quitting. I’m not a quitter, and I never really have been. I’ll say it, spur-of-the-moment, and not be serious about it at all.

But here, I am. I’m thinking clearly and perfectly serious. If this doesn’t work out, and I’ve done everything wrong again, I’m just going to live out the rest of high school as a monk. Danse, mon moine, danse, because there’s nothing else to do but dance around in circles and circles like the spinning top that “moine” is also slang for. I’m always circling around, never stopping, never settling anywhere that wants me.

I just won’t involve myself with boys after this. They don’t like me anyway, I don’t know why I bother. And I’m not just beating myself up, here, because do you see any boys lining up for me? No, sir. You don’t.

So whatever. I have enough to do. If straightforwardness isn’t enough to accomplish what I want it to, then I’m finished here. And that’s how it’s gona go down.