"Please return, return to the person that you were, and I will do the same..."
I went on a date.
Technically it wasn't a date because he didn't say "umm, would you like to go to a party with me in hopes that I may get into your pants?"
Umm, it was a weird night. It was spent stumbling for conversation and just scrounging for vowels and analogies. He picked me up in a truck, his father's. The radio was simply on to fill in the awkward silences. It was all very forced, I felt.
I don't know, I don't know.
I mean, I'm at this point in my life where I do want to find the one I love but at the same time I am in utter disbelief that I will ever find my ideal.
I expect way too much.
It's strange, in my life I'm discovering the sad fact that we will have to settle for the mundane. There is no real romance in reality. There's no room when you have gritty and callous truth with a face like concrete. I hate that, I some kind of surreal romantic life.
It's times like this that I find myself wanting to be as insane as Blanch Dubois. To make up my reality, this dramatic life of endeavors and hurdles that I will overcome because in my mind I am the protagonist.
But, anyway, the date was, eh, so-so. I mean, it's strange, I know he wanted more, I could tell by the pauses in speech. It was sweet. I just don't think I want that right now. I don't want hot breath on my neck and the stifled grunts of sexual tension. I want something, but I'm not sure what that is.
I think I should become celibate.
I'm sure celibacy will cure all my problems. I'll just work out a lot to work off any leftover desires. Umm, occupy my time with music and art and work. That's what I'll do.
Down From Dover news: I've been rewriting, revising and revisiting old memories. It's been a tired trail of trials and betrayel (on myself). I like the way one song sounds at the moment, I'll have to rework some of the other things and figure out things. This is a time of construction and I fear I'm out of money to pay the laborers.
Technically it wasn't a date because he didn't say "umm, would you like to go to a party with me in hopes that I may get into your pants?"
Umm, it was a weird night. It was spent stumbling for conversation and just scrounging for vowels and analogies. He picked me up in a truck, his father's. The radio was simply on to fill in the awkward silences. It was all very forced, I felt.
I don't know, I don't know.
I mean, I'm at this point in my life where I do want to find the one I love but at the same time I am in utter disbelief that I will ever find my ideal.
I expect way too much.
It's strange, in my life I'm discovering the sad fact that we will have to settle for the mundane. There is no real romance in reality. There's no room when you have gritty and callous truth with a face like concrete. I hate that, I some kind of surreal romantic life.
It's times like this that I find myself wanting to be as insane as Blanch Dubois. To make up my reality, this dramatic life of endeavors and hurdles that I will overcome because in my mind I am the protagonist.
But, anyway, the date was, eh, so-so. I mean, it's strange, I know he wanted more, I could tell by the pauses in speech. It was sweet. I just don't think I want that right now. I don't want hot breath on my neck and the stifled grunts of sexual tension. I want something, but I'm not sure what that is.
I think I should become celibate.
I'm sure celibacy will cure all my problems. I'll just work out a lot to work off any leftover desires. Umm, occupy my time with music and art and work. That's what I'll do.
Down From Dover news: I've been rewriting, revising and revisiting old memories. It's been a tired trail of trials and betrayel (on myself). I like the way one song sounds at the moment, I'll have to rework some of the other things and figure out things. This is a time of construction and I fear I'm out of money to pay the laborers.