WARNING: some ideas/thoughts may be completely irrational
transcript - some parts may be offensive to some readers
At Mario's again, this time on the couch Ris and I had a three-hour conversation on. I feel odd. I feel like I could fall into the deepest pit of despair at the drop of a hat, but something's stopping me from falling. But then that something is also stopping me from rising up and feeling grouse grouse grouse. So everything is weird. I worry about what other people here in the cafe and I pass on the street think of me, but when they stare or smirk at me I feel a sort of rebellion, a pride in my ability to shock the high-brow, upper-class twits of this area. I like that I'm nothing like them, but I worry that they look down on me. See, it's all fucked up.
And I sit here all alone on this couch. "Sittin' with all yer friends, Sarah!" I hear them yell. "Scott and Neville! Scott-no mates and Neville will! HA HA HA." Barrell of fucking laughs. Everyone in this cafe at this present moment is part of a pair, a couple, a duo, a twosome. One lucky trio/threesome up the front. I act like I don't care, like I do this all the time. I do in fact - I do come to cafes alone all the time, but I don't sit alone at a couch for two, surrounded by three 'pouffes' and a big coffee table. When the trio and the the coupled people came in, they glanced at me and I could read their minds: "how dare she take up that couch! It's for more than one person only - no singletons allowed. Go sit at a table you sad fucking loser, we resent you so much for taking up a group area for your own selfishness!! You don't deserve the comfort of a couch when you're alone. Go sit on a hard cold wooden seat. When you're paired up, then you can share in the privelege of sitting in comfort with the rest of us superior beings. You selfish pathetic moronic loser."
Now another solo lady has sat next to me and is reading a book. Good. Now I don't look so loserish.
Just once I wish a beautiful young man with an artistic flair, a tortured soul, a sensitive mind and a need for another would sit next to me. We would strike up a conversation and talk for hours about music, film, literature, emotion, each other, and never want it to end. Like it happens in the movies. Maybe that's why I love the idea of making a movie. Why I want to make a movie. I live in fantasy most of the time. Reality never gives me what I want. So why would I want to live there? I ask you.
Why am I never noticed? I want to know what I'm doing wrong, why people never talk to me. Do I give off a vibe of unapproachableness? Do I repel people somehow? I talk to people like Jen and Hayley and Stella, who seem to attract all types of people and think "how do they do it?" But then, Jen, Hayley and Stella are indescribably beautiful and attractive and pleasing to the eye, so I cannot put myself in the same category. People are drawn to beauty as a moth is drawn to light. You have to try 10 x harder if you are plain, or homely, or unattractive. Things seem to come easily to beautiful people. Of course they must work, as everyone does, but not as hard. They are like a fire suddenly and unexpectedly found on a freezing cold day - people want to be near them, to bask in their reflected beauty.
The same with size. As a tall, large, plain woman, I don't get a second glance. I am the friend to men, nothing more. I am the advisor, the counsellour, the mate, everything else being a friend entails, but never am I anything more than that. No matter how many times I hear that men like curves, I cannot believe it. At least, not until I am proven wrong. The instances when I have been intimate with men have been the result of alcohol. I look thinner when the man is drunk. I appear more desirable. Time and time again I have been passed over for thinness, petitness, typical traditional attractiveness when the men are sober and lucid, but after considerable drinking sessions, suddenly I am a Playboy bunny.
That's partly the reason I don't drink as much anymore. I'm completely over the effects of alcohol.
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I once came here with Hailey Wilson. We sat in the window seat, drank coffee and talked absolute shit. We laughed and exclaimed and yelled and cried out. I miss that.
My head is all over the joint. this is odd. The stars**** mean my head stopped being lucid and went jumbled. It was bad. I'm going home.