Casual conversation among friends:
“So whatever do you do with all these potentially willing chicks in the house?”
– “Don’t get any ideas. I have a very professional attitude when it comes to anyone staying over. Last thing I want is for them to feel threatened.”
-“Well you got that down. The last thing I’ll feel around you is threatened, you never did so much as show interest.”
Now, what I said was, “I know. It’s a handicap.”
But what I meant was, “Jesus fucking Christ thank you, finally some damn feedback this decade. Who do I have to kill to get some genuine response to my behavior?”
With people wanting to be friendly and polite all day, it is extremely difficult to see really heartfelt reactions to the things you do, never mind verbal hints. For someone who over-analyzes as much as I do, oneself is a very difficult subject to pick apart, because it isn’t possible to achieve an objective view. The reason that sucks balls (how do you mean, random vocabulary?) is because that means you have to rely on others to form a more or less accurate image of yourself, and for some reason those others seem out to boycott you in every way.
To know oneself is to grow as a person, I really do believe it’s of enormous value. Yet still, this timid fucking society seems to consider any form of criticism a reason to jump a bridge. Well I don’t.
I realize I show the same behavior, though. So lately I’ve been trying to be a tad more honest when people ask me about something they did or are. Actually, you’d be surprised how often people do this, and how easily we come up with outright lies to avoid the question. Not that I’ll immediately provide them the truth (WHICH THEY CAN’T HANDLE), but at least think twice about what they mean by that.
It makes my response just a tad more slow and unspontaneous, which isn’t exactly what I need, but at least aims for the kind of conversation where you can both learn a tiny bit more about yourself, and thus your reflection on the world. Try it, you’d be surprised how thankful people will be. I for one, will fuck your leg if you do it twice.
Well, I think I better roll over and get used to it: I am never going to get over my first ex. Ever.
It’s not particularly pleasant seeing any of the others show off their boyfriend to me, but there’s only one that I vowed to kill and that’s the mouthbreather she cheated on me with, and is now happily living under one roof with.
I thought I saw him in town the other day, at a gig I was doing (I “do gigs” now, haven’t you heard?). At first I ignored him, but by the end of the night his presence had annoyed me so thoroughly, that I went to look for him to deliver the broken spine I owed him. It turned out to be someone else.
She and I went to spend a weekend on the other side of Belgium, with a bunch of friends who enjoy this kind of thing. Not that I don’t, but a great deal of the fun goes straight out the window if they think it convenient to put me in the same room as her. Nothing like changing for bed and have your ex walk in on you. If you think you know what awkward is, come live with me for a day or two.
She joined in later than the rest and left early, leaving me with the conclusion that it will never stop hurting to see her go. For the time that she’s there it is obvious to everyone that what we had is now destroyed to the point of no return, but somehow it still aches not to see her disagree.
So I’ve grown into this state of passive aggression, in all senses of the word, where I wish “best regards to everyone at home” when she leaves and bluntly ask her why I would be angry with her if she even makes the slightest hint towards it- because she knows I still am.
What it is not, and get this right, is that I am incapable of having a normal relationship (I think). I’m as available as they come and no past relationship will change that in the slightest. In fact, if I remember correctly, it’s a hell of a lot easier not to give a damn when knowing I’ve got something better than regrets, sitting at home.
So what to do in the mean time? Suck it up I guess, and let her have her little life, with her little house and little boyfriend. I hope he goes insane every time she comes near me, knowing all too well she hasn’t had a single boyfriend so far she hasn’t cheated on. But eh, I’m not that much of a masochist that I’d dive into bed with her again- knock on wood.