Meh
Love sucks. I have 8 hand-written pages of what I'm sure any reader would consider to be extremely persuasive evidence to support this theory of mine, but about seven and a half pages through, I decided that I'd rather not be the guy that's to blame for anyone finding out that the tooth fairy is just a myth. The theory of love, to those who know little or nothing about it and/or have experienced nothing even remotely close to it, can be quite reassuring. Believing that love exists is the grown-up way of keeping us all from bursting into tears because we lost a tooth, and thus, the world is coming to an end. No wait! There's a quarter involved! Yeah, see, this magical little creature with wings flies in at night and graces us with this gift that's so fulfilling, so envigorating, that it almost makes up for the feeling we all get when we lose a piece of ourselves.
Coming to the realization that fairy tales, in all forms, are utter bullshit is the first step to becoming completely miserable. And thus, I'll hold back. I'll keep the words on the backs of UPS order confimation forms - which, at the time, were the only thing that I could find to write on. I'll get over the excrutiating cramp that I felt in my hand after pumping out page after page of negativity. I'll just go ahead and let go of the tears I fought back as I wrote out what were quite possibly the most painful things I have ever thought. I'll leave everyone else to find their shiny quarters underneath their pillows.
I internally debated for hours last night on whether or not it's worth it to believe in something so perfect, only to have such an ideal ripped from your chest, spat on, and discarded like a defective piece of candy.
Sometimes I wonder if that perfect feeling is worth it. With great pleasure comes great responsibility, I say. When you're on top of the world, everything seems so right...you're amidst the coulds, breathing in heaven itself. You feel so at ease, like you're floating.
In reality, that feeling deep in the center of your gut is the same gravitational uncertainty you get in the last instant right before you plunge. That is love: the precursor to falling farther and harder than you ever imagined possible.
There is no perfect girl. The perfect feeling is a cruel dellusion
I decided in the middle of page seven that it isn't my place to tell people what to believe, or even what to expect. Santa Claus is your own buisness. If you want to believe that shit, that's on you. I shouldn't have the right to ruin your holiday or relationship experience just because mine has been unfathomably shitty for as long as I can remember.
Though I must say, I'm rather sick of being able to forgive everyone and anyone in the world but myself. I've grown rather disgusted with myself for always finding a way to make 'maybe it was my fault' sound so reasonable.
Reason. Logic.
That's my biggest problem, I think. I should have realized by now that emotion is the one thing that should never be lumped together with logic. I try way too hard to make sense of things...I try to make love sound like something that's understandable, when it clearly isn't. For some reason, I continually expect everyone around me to be the same: to expect to find reason in things. Somehow, I haven't been able to grasp the fact that some people just don't care. Most people just don't think that far ahead, and some just don't think at all. It's completely unique that I think about things as much as I do. It's completely normal that other people just don't really think about things.
It's like I try to be my own fucking psychologist. "Why do you feel that way, Dave? What do you think she'd say if she knew what you were thinking? Perhaps it's wise that you just be open and honest...tell her what she deserves to hear, and maybe things will go better than you think they might."
I call B.S.
Being honest and moral is so overrated. I have little to nothing to show for being as honest to people as possible without ever trying to cross that "too much honesty" fence. When someone demands to know what I'm thinking, I lack the sense to make something up. Sure, they'll say "well, it's better that you told me. I thank you for that, blah blah blah," but what they're really thinking is "Oh, for fucks sake. LIE TO ME, STUPID!" But I can't do it! No matter how much I think I should, no matter how much better it might be if I would just look someone in the eye and tell them half the truth, I just can't bring myself to be dishonest. I HATE feeling dishonest. I get lied to day in and day out, and I get over it, but ONE stretch of the truth that comes out of me, and I go fucking nuts.
I'm not trying to make myself out to be someone special. Hell no. In fact, I'd willingly be a spokesman for DISHONESTY if I could. Look at what telling the truth does to you! Every time I trust someone, they do me in...
I'm getting off topic, though. That's not what happened this time around...I tend to lump these cases together sometimes, and I guess that's not right. Just because the first three people that I truly cared about unremorsefully stabbed me in the back doesn't mean that the fourth did. No, she just didn't seem to care much about where I was coming from. For once, I take the time to explain why I'm acting all tight-lipped, trying to explain to her why I'm holding back, and she explodes in a ball of "holy shit, I had no idea that you had feelings!" Then, of course, I get the whole self-implimented guilt trip.
Aww, fuck. I shouldn't have said anything. I'm so easy to see through... When something is on my mind, people know it. It's just my fault for being so honest when someone asks me to tell them what it is that I'm thinking. I can't fucking stand how honest I am. Fuck my morals, forget how I feel. Nevermind my point of view...It was selfish of me to tell her that I hurt. I should have realized that there was something special was there... I should have guessed that my feelings would only get in the way of that yet again. Just like no ONE is perfect, noTHING is perfect - I should have known that, and i should have let imperfection work its' magic.
I like being a fuckup. I kind of enjoy the fact that I always say too little or too much. I relish my postion of always being the fall guy who can forgive anyone and everyone but himself. I just really HATE when I have to put up with the consequences of what I do because I know it's "right". Maybe I should just give up on doing what's "right". Maybe doing the wrong thing for the moderately acceptable reasons isn't so bad afterall...
Meh. No more spewing this trash.
This morning when I was writing this garbage instead of doing the productive things that I should have been doing, it was fucking monsooning outside...I can't remember the last time it had rained that hard. It was a really twisted way to slap a moviescript depression on the beginning of my day. But eventually, the clouds went from dark dreary black to a dirty misty grey, and I started to get over myself.
If my friends know me for one thing, it's my miraculous ability to just not care.
If my best friends know me for one thing, it's my miraculous ability to mask exactly how much I care.
I had feared for a while this morning that I might be losing touch with that superpower. I thought that it was possible that this might become something that I might not get over quite so easily.
But the truth is that I may already be over it. All it took was eight ink-riddled pages of venting and one good long sit. A few baseball games and a few sleepless nights, and this may become something that will dwell permenantly in the back of my brain - right there with the rest of the tales of broken hearts and foiled dreams.
Maybe it was all just a waste of time. A sick routine that I put myself through about once a year. Fall for a girl, watch it fall apart, learn nothing from it, move on....rinse and repeat. Maybe I'll just have to get used to it...maybe that's the solution. Next time I walk into something like this, I can just see it coming. If it happens again, at least I'll have expected it. Or maybe I can actually change my repeating destiny of failure.
"A waste of time" was a bad way to phrase it...I didn't mean that. We take our lumps in life and move on. This is just another painful chapter in the tragedy/comedy of my life. I thought about it a lot and I'm still not sure whether or not I consider this or any of my previous relationships to be "worth it", but at the same time I can't see myself not living them out. And I'm rambling completely off-topic. The handwriting was my expression, not this. This is just so I won't feel like I wasted my entire day when I throw out those pieces of paper later.
Blah blah blah. I do kinda feel like the last month and a half of my life have a little less meaning, though. I've got to admit that.
Oh well. Here's to tomarrow--
Coming to the realization that fairy tales, in all forms, are utter bullshit is the first step to becoming completely miserable. And thus, I'll hold back. I'll keep the words on the backs of UPS order confimation forms - which, at the time, were the only thing that I could find to write on. I'll get over the excrutiating cramp that I felt in my hand after pumping out page after page of negativity. I'll just go ahead and let go of the tears I fought back as I wrote out what were quite possibly the most painful things I have ever thought. I'll leave everyone else to find their shiny quarters underneath their pillows.
I internally debated for hours last night on whether or not it's worth it to believe in something so perfect, only to have such an ideal ripped from your chest, spat on, and discarded like a defective piece of candy.
Sometimes I wonder if that perfect feeling is worth it. With great pleasure comes great responsibility, I say. When you're on top of the world, everything seems so right...you're amidst the coulds, breathing in heaven itself. You feel so at ease, like you're floating.
In reality, that feeling deep in the center of your gut is the same gravitational uncertainty you get in the last instant right before you plunge. That is love: the precursor to falling farther and harder than you ever imagined possible.
There is no perfect girl. The perfect feeling is a cruel dellusion
I decided in the middle of page seven that it isn't my place to tell people what to believe, or even what to expect. Santa Claus is your own buisness. If you want to believe that shit, that's on you. I shouldn't have the right to ruin your holiday or relationship experience just because mine has been unfathomably shitty for as long as I can remember.
Though I must say, I'm rather sick of being able to forgive everyone and anyone in the world but myself. I've grown rather disgusted with myself for always finding a way to make 'maybe it was my fault' sound so reasonable.
Reason. Logic.
That's my biggest problem, I think. I should have realized by now that emotion is the one thing that should never be lumped together with logic. I try way too hard to make sense of things...I try to make love sound like something that's understandable, when it clearly isn't. For some reason, I continually expect everyone around me to be the same: to expect to find reason in things. Somehow, I haven't been able to grasp the fact that some people just don't care. Most people just don't think that far ahead, and some just don't think at all. It's completely unique that I think about things as much as I do. It's completely normal that other people just don't really think about things.
It's like I try to be my own fucking psychologist. "Why do you feel that way, Dave? What do you think she'd say if she knew what you were thinking? Perhaps it's wise that you just be open and honest...tell her what she deserves to hear, and maybe things will go better than you think they might."
I call B.S.
Being honest and moral is so overrated. I have little to nothing to show for being as honest to people as possible without ever trying to cross that "too much honesty" fence. When someone demands to know what I'm thinking, I lack the sense to make something up. Sure, they'll say "well, it's better that you told me. I thank you for that, blah blah blah," but what they're really thinking is "Oh, for fucks sake. LIE TO ME, STUPID!" But I can't do it! No matter how much I think I should, no matter how much better it might be if I would just look someone in the eye and tell them half the truth, I just can't bring myself to be dishonest. I HATE feeling dishonest. I get lied to day in and day out, and I get over it, but ONE stretch of the truth that comes out of me, and I go fucking nuts.
I'm not trying to make myself out to be someone special. Hell no. In fact, I'd willingly be a spokesman for DISHONESTY if I could. Look at what telling the truth does to you! Every time I trust someone, they do me in...
I'm getting off topic, though. That's not what happened this time around...I tend to lump these cases together sometimes, and I guess that's not right. Just because the first three people that I truly cared about unremorsefully stabbed me in the back doesn't mean that the fourth did. No, she just didn't seem to care much about where I was coming from. For once, I take the time to explain why I'm acting all tight-lipped, trying to explain to her why I'm holding back, and she explodes in a ball of "holy shit, I had no idea that you had feelings!" Then, of course, I get the whole self-implimented guilt trip.
Aww, fuck. I shouldn't have said anything. I'm so easy to see through... When something is on my mind, people know it. It's just my fault for being so honest when someone asks me to tell them what it is that I'm thinking. I can't fucking stand how honest I am. Fuck my morals, forget how I feel. Nevermind my point of view...It was selfish of me to tell her that I hurt. I should have realized that there was something special was there... I should have guessed that my feelings would only get in the way of that yet again. Just like no ONE is perfect, noTHING is perfect - I should have known that, and i should have let imperfection work its' magic.
I like being a fuckup. I kind of enjoy the fact that I always say too little or too much. I relish my postion of always being the fall guy who can forgive anyone and everyone but himself. I just really HATE when I have to put up with the consequences of what I do because I know it's "right". Maybe I should just give up on doing what's "right". Maybe doing the wrong thing for the moderately acceptable reasons isn't so bad afterall...
Meh. No more spewing this trash.
This morning when I was writing this garbage instead of doing the productive things that I should have been doing, it was fucking monsooning outside...I can't remember the last time it had rained that hard. It was a really twisted way to slap a moviescript depression on the beginning of my day. But eventually, the clouds went from dark dreary black to a dirty misty grey, and I started to get over myself.
If my friends know me for one thing, it's my miraculous ability to just not care.
If my best friends know me for one thing, it's my miraculous ability to mask exactly how much I care.
I had feared for a while this morning that I might be losing touch with that superpower. I thought that it was possible that this might become something that I might not get over quite so easily.
But the truth is that I may already be over it. All it took was eight ink-riddled pages of venting and one good long sit. A few baseball games and a few sleepless nights, and this may become something that will dwell permenantly in the back of my brain - right there with the rest of the tales of broken hearts and foiled dreams.
Maybe it was all just a waste of time. A sick routine that I put myself through about once a year. Fall for a girl, watch it fall apart, learn nothing from it, move on....rinse and repeat. Maybe I'll just have to get used to it...maybe that's the solution. Next time I walk into something like this, I can just see it coming. If it happens again, at least I'll have expected it. Or maybe I can actually change my repeating destiny of failure.
"A waste of time" was a bad way to phrase it...I didn't mean that. We take our lumps in life and move on. This is just another painful chapter in the tragedy/comedy of my life. I thought about it a lot and I'm still not sure whether or not I consider this or any of my previous relationships to be "worth it", but at the same time I can't see myself not living them out. And I'm rambling completely off-topic. The handwriting was my expression, not this. This is just so I won't feel like I wasted my entire day when I throw out those pieces of paper later.
Blah blah blah. I do kinda feel like the last month and a half of my life have a little less meaning, though. I've got to admit that.
Oh well. Here's to tomarrow--