sweep her off her feet while she's sober
I know I write about the metaphorical equivalent happening in this journal all the time, but today, I literally, physically, chased after a girl and then she laughed at me. In downtown Hermitage, dodging a Hummer that almost hit me, I burned all the energy my pathetically out-of-shape body had stored, and tracked her down. With sweat pouring out of my skin like a sprinkler system, I jumped into her car. She called me retarded. I couldn't disagree. I was so embarrassed. I felt like such an idiot. We went to a restaurant, where I quickly slid down into my booth like a wilted flower, trying to keep the red on my cheeks out of sight.
In a way, I feel bad writing about this situation. First of all, it's not really something that is completely appropriate to be public. I'm withholding any details that could intimately describe anything. I'm also scared to write about this situation. I'm worried that writing about this will make things worse. Basically, the reason I am writing about this is because all of the feelings I have bottled up inside might just be paranoia, or loneliness, or habit, but I need to get them out. The situation might be completely different than what I'm interpreting. I don't know if I have the privilege of bringing things up and talking to her. I don't know if that would be appropriate for me to do. I also am aware that her life is so incredibly complicated right now that I am nowhere near her priorities. (I actually don't have a problem with that. I just fear if I bring this up she'll interpret it as I think I expect to be a priority. I don't. I just want to be the person she chooses to relax and unwind with.) So, I just want to get things out of my head, so I can relax, so I can analyze them, and hopefully get a peaceful night of sleep. Hopefully I'm just worrying, and things are better than they appear. I'm lost right now, and I have to say, I feel pretty embarrassed and stupid.
Eight days ago, I struck gold. I was sitting at home with Nick, minding my own business, watching television. I had no evening plans, no weekend ambitions. I was just a single guy hanging out with his pseudo-brother and friend. And then, she called me. It took one ring of the phone before my heart leaped into my throat and I jumped up like an addict at a pharmaceutical sales convention and someone shouted “free samples.” I went to the bar. She drank, I remained sober. In between cigarettes, the same routine played out. The one where she talks about how she's unhappy with the relationship she's in, and I tell her how damaged I am from the relationship I haven't been in for a while. We wonder aloud why things never worked out between us. Usually the fact that I go after girls that are unattainable is to blame, and we go inside. Things were following the script when all of a sudden, everything veered off course with a kiss that was slightly more romantic and noticeably longer than the ones that usually occur at this point in the sequence. Soon, multiple kisses followed, along with a compliment about the way I kiss. A smile turned into an erection, and fear turned into a stronger, closer grip on her body. The sequence was all fucked up now. While we were inside, and she was roaming around, my mind was moving faster than a lightning bolt. Ten years flashed before my eyes, everything was over analyzed, and the “here, we go, Steve Kudelko, you're falling for another girl” sequence started to play out. However, I actually have liked this girl forever. The “you're falling for another girl” sequence could actually be better described as the shocking, new “holy shit, how is this happening after all of this time?” sequence. Soon, we left the bar.
On the way home, we discussed what happened in the time that we had last seen each other. She married someone, started a family, and found out he was not really that great of a person. I had multiple mental breakdowns, had a chance to start a family ripped away from me, and tried to kill myself several times. She had a wedding while I had an overdose. While she was in his arms at night, needles were in mine. We definitely traveled down different roads. But here we were, at the same place, at the same time. I'm too initially optimistic to call anything a coincidence, so I called it fate. I proposed the idea that when she was ready to break out of the trapped life she was in, she'd give me a shot, and finally let me take care of her, and we'd finally love each other officially, in public, along with legitimate titles and hand holding in public and penetration to consecrate the damn thing. She agreed. We talked about why these things didn't occur before.... why we failed in the past. The only reason was that other people got in our way.
We arrived at my house, and she came inside to use the bathroom. I sat down on my bed, played with the puppy, and waited for her to come out. A few minutes later, our backs hit the bed as her right arm was parallel to my left. As I cleverly slipped my hand into hers, she grabbed my other arm and crossed it over her chest. I thought she wanted a hug, but she actually wanted me on top of her. As I moved to where she wanted me, her nose brushed against mine as if this was a long existing ritual, always starting with the brushing of the noses before transitioning into the greatest make-out session either had ever experienced in their lives. Our lips fit perfectly together like a carefully constructed puzzle, and every turn of the head, tiny nibble by the teeth, and grip with the arms flowed perfectly like a meticulously choreographed dance routine. Had we made out on a public stage, our performance would have been so magnificent we would have received a standing ovation. My hands glided across the most beautiful body I had ever felt, every curve perfect in size, every inch of skin perfectly soft, and amazingly scented. I moved to the music that was playing in our heads, never missing a step, never skipping a beat. It was as if I had found what I had been meant to do my entire life. Never would I ever be able to perform any routine, no matter how carefully I study, like I shared my love that night.
We got up to leave several times, each time starting with her asking the question “Why didn't we do this sooner?” and another kiss being the answer. Finally, as Nick waited patiently outside, we made plans to spend the next week together, as she didn't have to work, and we reluctantly pulled ourselves away from each other and I walked her to her car. My mind was blown away by what had happened, and the biggest smile I had ever sported stretched across my face. Even though my mind was racing, and I was in complete and total awe of what had just happened, I peacefully slept, happier than I had ever been before.
The next day, I visited her at work. For some reason, upon sober reflection on the day before, she wasn't as intimate or attracted to me as before. In fact, both of us seemed to be quite shy. Though we thoroughly enjoyed our time together, she admittedly was nervous around me. The voice inside my brain that enjoys scaring me told me that she was regretting everything that happened. That she was lying. That she didn't really take anything that happened seriously. I pushed that voice out of my head, and visited her again on her break the following day. That day, things went much more smoothly. We sat outside, chain smoking and laughing, with my arm around her the entire time, sharing kisses in between cigarettes and stories by the various co-workers that came and went around us. However, after that day, things seemed to go downhill.
We didn't talk for a day or two after that. She sent me a message saying that her phone was off, so we attempted to communicate through the computer. Maybe computer messages just aren't capable of sharing as much emotion or love as cellular phones, but for the first time, the paranoid voice in my head was making a lot of sense to me. The competition I had been assured wasn't a threat was a very big fucking threat indeed. Someone who, while I was going through hell, was getting closer and closer to her and to a group of people who had been friends of mine. While I was completely off of the radar, by my own choice (or because my lifestyle chose for me), he impressed her, and attracted her. Fuck. He's going to be in this area soon. Of course, the paranoid voice asked me if I was even going to be remembered once he was here, or if I could ever compete with him. Was I good enough for her? He was.
The paranoid voice in my head is a fucking asshole, and he really wants to see me fail. The more time that passed in between conversations with her, the more I realized that I couldn't ever be good enough for her. When she leaves the trap she's in now, she'll end up moving on to someone who isn't me. That is exactly what I'm afraid of. So, I make an idiot out of myself by continuing to beg and plead for her attention and time, even though it's clear that she's not interested, and it's clear that if she's not spending time with the person she's legally committed to, she'd rather spend it with the charming gentleman who fucking isn't me.
I have a few days to try and impress, try to prove that I'm capable of making her happy, and making her smile, and taking good care of her, and leading a family. I have an impossible task ahead of me where I have to sweep her off her feet while she's sober. I really don't know what to do. So, I pray every morning the second I wake up, and I pray right before I go to sleep. “God, please let this work out. Please don't let me trust the wrong girl again. Please let me find love. Please finally let me be worth someone's time and feelings.” And every time I'm sitting alone, waiting for her call, or for her to message me back, fearing that she's dreaming of someone who isn't me, I cry out inside my head “Please pick me. Please choose me to run away with. Please let me be the one who cheers you up. Let me take away your stress. Let me tell you the things that you should be hearing... like that you're beautiful, and funny, and brilliant, and worth everything in the world.”
I spend every day wishing that whatever I am doing at the moment, I was doing with someone else. When I see previews for movies, I think about how great it'd be to have someone accompany me to the show. When I see sunsets, I wish someone was next to me, on a blanket, watching the same sunset with me. I don't care what stupid, mundane, boring tasks I have to do. I'd be the happiest person in the world if someone was next to me while I was doing them. I want to share what happened during my day with someone who would actually give a shit. I want someone to ask me how I'm doing, or how I'm feeling. I want to ask someone else that, and hang on every word they say. I want a best friend, someone to experience life with, someone to do sweet things for. I want her to be that person. I want to surprise her with a flower, or breathe the cool, evening air, while we're holding hands in the grass in my backyard. I want to cuddle with her and take away all of her stress and just listen to her talk my ear off about whatever she thinks is important. I want to share my life with her, and I want her to share her life with me. I want to know how she's feeling, what she's thinking. I want to watch movies with her, go to concerts with her, look across the table at her beautiful brown eyes during a romantic dinner, and sit on the same side of a booth with her at breakfast when we're both hungover. I want to love her every second of every day, and have her actually want that. What do I have to do to be appealing to her? Will any of this ever happen? Will she ever come to me when she wants to be happy, or wants to relax, or wants to feel loved?
I just wish I felt as confident, worthwhile, and loved as I did last Friday. I also wish that I didn't feel like such a fucking loser talking about this, and that the mosquitoes on my back porch would stop gnawing on my leg. I wish that for the first time in ten years, we wouldn't let things stop with a kiss and instead explored what seems to be destiny. Really, these mosquitoes need to fucking knock it off. I love you. Please give me a chance. Not anyone else. Not that other guy. Please just love ME back.
In a way, I feel bad writing about this situation. First of all, it's not really something that is completely appropriate to be public. I'm withholding any details that could intimately describe anything. I'm also scared to write about this situation. I'm worried that writing about this will make things worse. Basically, the reason I am writing about this is because all of the feelings I have bottled up inside might just be paranoia, or loneliness, or habit, but I need to get them out. The situation might be completely different than what I'm interpreting. I don't know if I have the privilege of bringing things up and talking to her. I don't know if that would be appropriate for me to do. I also am aware that her life is so incredibly complicated right now that I am nowhere near her priorities. (I actually don't have a problem with that. I just fear if I bring this up she'll interpret it as I think I expect to be a priority. I don't. I just want to be the person she chooses to relax and unwind with.) So, I just want to get things out of my head, so I can relax, so I can analyze them, and hopefully get a peaceful night of sleep. Hopefully I'm just worrying, and things are better than they appear. I'm lost right now, and I have to say, I feel pretty embarrassed and stupid.
Eight days ago, I struck gold. I was sitting at home with Nick, minding my own business, watching television. I had no evening plans, no weekend ambitions. I was just a single guy hanging out with his pseudo-brother and friend. And then, she called me. It took one ring of the phone before my heart leaped into my throat and I jumped up like an addict at a pharmaceutical sales convention and someone shouted “free samples.” I went to the bar. She drank, I remained sober. In between cigarettes, the same routine played out. The one where she talks about how she's unhappy with the relationship she's in, and I tell her how damaged I am from the relationship I haven't been in for a while. We wonder aloud why things never worked out between us. Usually the fact that I go after girls that are unattainable is to blame, and we go inside. Things were following the script when all of a sudden, everything veered off course with a kiss that was slightly more romantic and noticeably longer than the ones that usually occur at this point in the sequence. Soon, multiple kisses followed, along with a compliment about the way I kiss. A smile turned into an erection, and fear turned into a stronger, closer grip on her body. The sequence was all fucked up now. While we were inside, and she was roaming around, my mind was moving faster than a lightning bolt. Ten years flashed before my eyes, everything was over analyzed, and the “here, we go, Steve Kudelko, you're falling for another girl” sequence started to play out. However, I actually have liked this girl forever. The “you're falling for another girl” sequence could actually be better described as the shocking, new “holy shit, how is this happening after all of this time?” sequence. Soon, we left the bar.
On the way home, we discussed what happened in the time that we had last seen each other. She married someone, started a family, and found out he was not really that great of a person. I had multiple mental breakdowns, had a chance to start a family ripped away from me, and tried to kill myself several times. She had a wedding while I had an overdose. While she was in his arms at night, needles were in mine. We definitely traveled down different roads. But here we were, at the same place, at the same time. I'm too initially optimistic to call anything a coincidence, so I called it fate. I proposed the idea that when she was ready to break out of the trapped life she was in, she'd give me a shot, and finally let me take care of her, and we'd finally love each other officially, in public, along with legitimate titles and hand holding in public and penetration to consecrate the damn thing. She agreed. We talked about why these things didn't occur before.... why we failed in the past. The only reason was that other people got in our way.
We arrived at my house, and she came inside to use the bathroom. I sat down on my bed, played with the puppy, and waited for her to come out. A few minutes later, our backs hit the bed as her right arm was parallel to my left. As I cleverly slipped my hand into hers, she grabbed my other arm and crossed it over her chest. I thought she wanted a hug, but she actually wanted me on top of her. As I moved to where she wanted me, her nose brushed against mine as if this was a long existing ritual, always starting with the brushing of the noses before transitioning into the greatest make-out session either had ever experienced in their lives. Our lips fit perfectly together like a carefully constructed puzzle, and every turn of the head, tiny nibble by the teeth, and grip with the arms flowed perfectly like a meticulously choreographed dance routine. Had we made out on a public stage, our performance would have been so magnificent we would have received a standing ovation. My hands glided across the most beautiful body I had ever felt, every curve perfect in size, every inch of skin perfectly soft, and amazingly scented. I moved to the music that was playing in our heads, never missing a step, never skipping a beat. It was as if I had found what I had been meant to do my entire life. Never would I ever be able to perform any routine, no matter how carefully I study, like I shared my love that night.
We got up to leave several times, each time starting with her asking the question “Why didn't we do this sooner?” and another kiss being the answer. Finally, as Nick waited patiently outside, we made plans to spend the next week together, as she didn't have to work, and we reluctantly pulled ourselves away from each other and I walked her to her car. My mind was blown away by what had happened, and the biggest smile I had ever sported stretched across my face. Even though my mind was racing, and I was in complete and total awe of what had just happened, I peacefully slept, happier than I had ever been before.
The next day, I visited her at work. For some reason, upon sober reflection on the day before, she wasn't as intimate or attracted to me as before. In fact, both of us seemed to be quite shy. Though we thoroughly enjoyed our time together, she admittedly was nervous around me. The voice inside my brain that enjoys scaring me told me that she was regretting everything that happened. That she was lying. That she didn't really take anything that happened seriously. I pushed that voice out of my head, and visited her again on her break the following day. That day, things went much more smoothly. We sat outside, chain smoking and laughing, with my arm around her the entire time, sharing kisses in between cigarettes and stories by the various co-workers that came and went around us. However, after that day, things seemed to go downhill.
We didn't talk for a day or two after that. She sent me a message saying that her phone was off, so we attempted to communicate through the computer. Maybe computer messages just aren't capable of sharing as much emotion or love as cellular phones, but for the first time, the paranoid voice in my head was making a lot of sense to me. The competition I had been assured wasn't a threat was a very big fucking threat indeed. Someone who, while I was going through hell, was getting closer and closer to her and to a group of people who had been friends of mine. While I was completely off of the radar, by my own choice (or because my lifestyle chose for me), he impressed her, and attracted her. Fuck. He's going to be in this area soon. Of course, the paranoid voice asked me if I was even going to be remembered once he was here, or if I could ever compete with him. Was I good enough for her? He was.
The paranoid voice in my head is a fucking asshole, and he really wants to see me fail. The more time that passed in between conversations with her, the more I realized that I couldn't ever be good enough for her. When she leaves the trap she's in now, she'll end up moving on to someone who isn't me. That is exactly what I'm afraid of. So, I make an idiot out of myself by continuing to beg and plead for her attention and time, even though it's clear that she's not interested, and it's clear that if she's not spending time with the person she's legally committed to, she'd rather spend it with the charming gentleman who fucking isn't me.
I have a few days to try and impress, try to prove that I'm capable of making her happy, and making her smile, and taking good care of her, and leading a family. I have an impossible task ahead of me where I have to sweep her off her feet while she's sober. I really don't know what to do. So, I pray every morning the second I wake up, and I pray right before I go to sleep. “God, please let this work out. Please don't let me trust the wrong girl again. Please let me find love. Please finally let me be worth someone's time and feelings.” And every time I'm sitting alone, waiting for her call, or for her to message me back, fearing that she's dreaming of someone who isn't me, I cry out inside my head “Please pick me. Please choose me to run away with. Please let me be the one who cheers you up. Let me take away your stress. Let me tell you the things that you should be hearing... like that you're beautiful, and funny, and brilliant, and worth everything in the world.”
I spend every day wishing that whatever I am doing at the moment, I was doing with someone else. When I see previews for movies, I think about how great it'd be to have someone accompany me to the show. When I see sunsets, I wish someone was next to me, on a blanket, watching the same sunset with me. I don't care what stupid, mundane, boring tasks I have to do. I'd be the happiest person in the world if someone was next to me while I was doing them. I want to share what happened during my day with someone who would actually give a shit. I want someone to ask me how I'm doing, or how I'm feeling. I want to ask someone else that, and hang on every word they say. I want a best friend, someone to experience life with, someone to do sweet things for. I want her to be that person. I want to surprise her with a flower, or breathe the cool, evening air, while we're holding hands in the grass in my backyard. I want to cuddle with her and take away all of her stress and just listen to her talk my ear off about whatever she thinks is important. I want to share my life with her, and I want her to share her life with me. I want to know how she's feeling, what she's thinking. I want to watch movies with her, go to concerts with her, look across the table at her beautiful brown eyes during a romantic dinner, and sit on the same side of a booth with her at breakfast when we're both hungover. I want to love her every second of every day, and have her actually want that. What do I have to do to be appealing to her? Will any of this ever happen? Will she ever come to me when she wants to be happy, or wants to relax, or wants to feel loved?
I just wish I felt as confident, worthwhile, and loved as I did last Friday. I also wish that I didn't feel like such a fucking loser talking about this, and that the mosquitoes on my back porch would stop gnawing on my leg. I wish that for the first time in ten years, we wouldn't let things stop with a kiss and instead explored what seems to be destiny. Really, these mosquitoes need to fucking knock it off. I love you. Please give me a chance. Not anyone else. Not that other guy. Please just love ME back.