and you faced fits in the frame so like your footprints in the fake snow
""""so i think i might be dealing with some feeling of liking her in a meaningful way."
""""then you should definitely talk to her, but you'll be better off if you have this conversation when you're sober and she's sober. no emotional thoughts. all you're allowed to think is whether you'd like to put yourself in her or not for now," my good friend said. i don't remember if it was before or after, but i started talking to her again.
""""i think what this is is a three-way boy-fight over you. you should feel great, you know, desired,"" and after that, through some visual metaphor or allegory the audience finds out that when i put my dick in her it's like her vagina is my confused, whiny mental-mouth and i'm trying to pacify it like some kind of baby. does that make sense? it's a systematic way of putting off the problem until the next morning, at which point getting dressed for work takes precedence. it's only bad when i don't have that familiar physical act to fall back on the previous night. and then i have all night to think about it and what it means one way or the other. it's never conclusive either way." i think the entire conversation and how i'll structure it in my mind to understand it all while she's dancing with me and dancing with my friend and dancing with my other friend. there's no space anywhere and she's kissing my neck and then she's kissing one of the other guys on the mouth and whatever else. it took a lot to learn not to catalog those kinds of things thoroughly. i remember what the last real girl said.
""do you think maybe you're just depressed?"
""yeah, i guess," but 'just depressed' doesn't have enough to it to carry all the destructive self-examination and dissatisfaction that goes into this kind of mental state. in fact, i wonder if you even get it if you can chalk off an entire series of thoughts and feelings into a single psychological phenomenon. if you're approaching it that way, then how much do you even care in the first place? i mean, 'her', not you."
"then i realize that i'm not talking to either of you.
""i guess what my point is that i guess what my point is." i nod to myself and make sure my scarf is correctly wrapped around my neck. as if i gave two shits about what the security guards in their ugly fucking yellow jackets thought i looked like. i'm not even looking up. i'm not making eye contact, because it's cold and my eyes water when it's cold. i guess if i look more like an innocent student they'll make sure that guy who asked me for change doesn't stab me with a screwdriver.
"then i walk down a block or two.
"okay, turn left here.
""your inner monologue is wearing thin now."" i thought that sounded about right.
""""then you should definitely talk to her, but you'll be better off if you have this conversation when you're sober and she's sober. no emotional thoughts. all you're allowed to think is whether you'd like to put yourself in her or not for now," my good friend said. i don't remember if it was before or after, but i started talking to her again.
""""i think what this is is a three-way boy-fight over you. you should feel great, you know, desired,"" and after that, through some visual metaphor or allegory the audience finds out that when i put my dick in her it's like her vagina is my confused, whiny mental-mouth and i'm trying to pacify it like some kind of baby. does that make sense? it's a systematic way of putting off the problem until the next morning, at which point getting dressed for work takes precedence. it's only bad when i don't have that familiar physical act to fall back on the previous night. and then i have all night to think about it and what it means one way or the other. it's never conclusive either way." i think the entire conversation and how i'll structure it in my mind to understand it all while she's dancing with me and dancing with my friend and dancing with my other friend. there's no space anywhere and she's kissing my neck and then she's kissing one of the other guys on the mouth and whatever else. it took a lot to learn not to catalog those kinds of things thoroughly. i remember what the last real girl said.
""do you think maybe you're just depressed?"
""yeah, i guess," but 'just depressed' doesn't have enough to it to carry all the destructive self-examination and dissatisfaction that goes into this kind of mental state. in fact, i wonder if you even get it if you can chalk off an entire series of thoughts and feelings into a single psychological phenomenon. if you're approaching it that way, then how much do you even care in the first place? i mean, 'her', not you."
"then i realize that i'm not talking to either of you.
""i guess what my point is that i guess what my point is." i nod to myself and make sure my scarf is correctly wrapped around my neck. as if i gave two shits about what the security guards in their ugly fucking yellow jackets thought i looked like. i'm not even looking up. i'm not making eye contact, because it's cold and my eyes water when it's cold. i guess if i look more like an innocent student they'll make sure that guy who asked me for change doesn't stab me with a screwdriver.
"then i walk down a block or two.
"okay, turn left here.
""your inner monologue is wearing thin now."" i thought that sounded about right.