madness of all kinds
Between Simon and Karen & Martín, I now know far more about this Happening than I ever would have imagined. It's actually nice to feel like I'm part of some global event. I'm not super into the Olympics, though I did watch the swimming because those guys are seriously hot.
On another note, lately I've been feeling impatient with myself, unsettled and unattractive. It's an insecurity thing. None of these things mix well with this increase in my impure, libidinal thoughts which I suppose I could blame on the warm weather were they not a frequent issue in Winter as well.
It's not that being in flux is a bad thing, it's just that I don't have faith it will turn out well. You want to be at loose ends and then realize it has led you to write the great American novel, not being lost and realizing it has led you to...exactly where you were when you started. Argh! I fear having nothing to show for myself. I want to be remembered for something bigger than just me.
And it's not that being in heat is a bad thing, it's just that I don't have faith it will turn out well. As I grapple with this bout of irrational insecurity, I am certain, the way I'm certain of the existence of gravity, that no guy will ever find me attractive in any real way. That in order for that to happen, I would have to lose 30 pounds and have two ribs removed and get an ass transplant and boob job and even then men would not find me hot.
This is in the wake of a puberty spent with a severe underbite where I fervently believed that if only I had a pretty face, I would have guys swarming all over. And now I do have a pretty face, and instead of guys there are just more self-imposed conditions and prerequisites. Why? Because I'm painfully shy and so good at undermining myself; e.g. last night at the Delancey/Essex station I saw a really cute Japanese guy reading a magazine and somehow convinced myself that he couldn't possibly be interested in me and when he noticed me checking him out I panicked and stepped behind a pole so he couldn't see me. LAME.
This in spite of having recently hooked up with a photographer guy twice and receiving a slew of messages from men on MySpace....
What we are dealing with here is a crisis of faith. And bald-faced stupidity. And the inexplicable belief that I, like the song by The Smiths, am unlovable.