My life at this moment is a little surreal.
If you would have asked me, on my mission, what I would be doing when I got home, this wouldn't have been it. I had idealistic dreams of getting right into the job field, finding something to do with love and zeal, something to wake up for. I had an idea of going to school with honors, early, and graduating. No romance, no love, nothing in that... stream of conscious thought.
What happened when I came home?
Jobs were not as plentiful as previously expected, especially in my tiny town. I had a few interviews, but my eventual withdrawal to pursue further education proved to be more of a negative point rather than motivation to keep me busy, as I had hoped. Siblings surrounded me and sucked my life force, along with my patience, away. It's easy to get discouraged, to want to sit down and quit. My writing ceased to amuse or project my thoughts; my characters seemed boring and even reading seemed more of a menial habit to take up because I'd once enjoyed it rather than my first talent. I was a lost woman, completely at the mercy of her whims, of which there were many, and neglected her responsibilities (which were few).
Until, one day, I breathed: purely in a metaphoric sense, mind you, but I felt as if some fire had been kindled beneath me. Flavors seemed the same, I still enjoyed music, and yet somehow my heart beat to a new drum.
I'd fallen in love. I don't pretend to know why my heart acts one way and never ceases its stubbornness/defiance to my brain's explicit orders. One day, I hated all men; the next, I hated all but him.
I'm picky; those who have followed this blog from its predecessor know I am not easily pleased when it comes to the male race. I've been called: cold, casual, cruel, a tease, coy, a flirt, bossy, a nag, impossible and unrealistic. So what if I am? Men are allowed to create fictional physical attributes of their dream woman, am I not allowed the same courtesy simply because I am one? I will admit the physicality means nothing to me; my main concern is with their personality which will extend past their brain function (though exceedingly desirable) and looks (which are the italics on the words of personality).
He was hand-picked in a way I never would have suspected. Honestly, it was the only way it could have happened and while I'm happy it happened, I'm also terrified. You see, he doesn't know me.
It started out casually, a search for a keyword, not looking for anyone in particular, I just happened to come across his profile. Astonished would be an understatement to describe my feelings upon the realization we had almost everything in common. We liked most of the same things. I'd never met someone like him before, or even heard of a boy resembling me in the slightest.
However, time whisked him from my thoughts, only to return him on a sleepless night when my thoughts happened to be lost and without a purpose. With a resurgence of energy only classified as 'miraculous' I managed to find him again, despite the many months separation. He'd updated a few things and linked it to another one of his profiles saturated with news of him. Disgusted by my curiosity and shamed by my need, I refrained for a Herculean 45 seconds before collapse of mental facilities.
I read, I watched, I followed and researched everything about his online presence. Life and responsibilities called so the pursuit stretched to a week in the full recovery, but I emerged, triumphant, and also completely filled with self-loathing.
For the new ones, I had sworn off men. There is a black list about 10 feet long filled with the ruined relationships of my past. I don't, as a rule, lie. There are better things to do with my time than churn out filthy stories to cover up what I shouldn't be ashamed to admit; I am human!; and remembering them is 75% of the hassle. My personal standards haven't been mirrored in my choice of companions. I haven't had a single relationship with a man end favorably. All my male friends eventually get a crush on me (I have no idea what they're attracted to... other than pity) which is not reciprocated and they either turn creepy or fizzle out (or both). If we end up dating, he invariably cheats on and abuses me. After long talks with myself, many poems and songs, I've determined I have horrible taste in men, or at least attract those who mean me the most harm. I can't trust myself or those who like me. We're all at fault.
The idea of a library filled with my works as I taught younger students how to let their own dragons emerge, their own stories and villains to fight their battles on a metaphorical plane appealed to my inner spinster. With careful cultivation, my thoughts became a veritable garden of progress and plans. There would be a house, a cat, a dog, a me, and five jobs to keep me occupied. 2 goats for those strange questions at work and to curb any male appetites which seems to happen despite my best efforts to remain untouched.
Back to him; the lonely life was perfect for me and I looked forward to full enjoyment of never sharing. He entered my cyber life and all bets were off. All I found out about him helped the tiny crush inside to swell. I wanted to meet him, get to know him, talk to him, find out if he's as good IRL as online.
And thus it ends. You are now up to date. I hope this relationship goes somewhere and we become the odd gamer-writer couple nobody expects to make it, but we're so similar it just makes sense. There's a certain... luster to a hand-picked suitor.
On the downside, I'm a pessimist by virtue of being an author and the possibility of my motto changing from 'I love love!' to 'Down with love!' increases almost infinitely if we don't work out; the numbers for us actually communicating are almost as low as our odds of going anywhere past online acquaintances.
Do I want to remain a spinster and fulfill my childhood dreams or will I have to be stabbed in the back first? What are the chances of 'us'? Why am I neurotic?
In the end I am, as are we all, afraid of rejection. I bounce back, but it's traditionally with a harder shell than before I fell in the first place. There will be no diving into the heart of depression when he tells me to bugger off, but there will be bitterness and a certain, 'I-told-you-so' speech from my brain; My brain is the true pessimist, after all.
You don't hear about people this perfect every day; and I know he has his faults (I don't know which ones, but by virtue of his being full-blooded human, he has them) but he's perfect for me. It's a terrible cliche and overused in excess but true in this case; at least if we follow the online profile, he is. Whether or not we'll meet in person and opportunity will arise to conduct a thorough exploration of his personality is yet to be seen, but I have hope.
For once.
If you would have asked me, on my mission, what I would be doing when I got home, this wouldn't have been it. I had idealistic dreams of getting right into the job field, finding something to do with love and zeal, something to wake up for. I had an idea of going to school with honors, early, and graduating. No romance, no love, nothing in that... stream of conscious thought.
What happened when I came home?
Jobs were not as plentiful as previously expected, especially in my tiny town. I had a few interviews, but my eventual withdrawal to pursue further education proved to be more of a negative point rather than motivation to keep me busy, as I had hoped. Siblings surrounded me and sucked my life force, along with my patience, away. It's easy to get discouraged, to want to sit down and quit. My writing ceased to amuse or project my thoughts; my characters seemed boring and even reading seemed more of a menial habit to take up because I'd once enjoyed it rather than my first talent. I was a lost woman, completely at the mercy of her whims, of which there were many, and neglected her responsibilities (which were few).
Until, one day, I breathed: purely in a metaphoric sense, mind you, but I felt as if some fire had been kindled beneath me. Flavors seemed the same, I still enjoyed music, and yet somehow my heart beat to a new drum.
I'd fallen in love. I don't pretend to know why my heart acts one way and never ceases its stubbornness/defiance to my brain's explicit orders. One day, I hated all men; the next, I hated all but him.
I'm picky; those who have followed this blog from its predecessor know I am not easily pleased when it comes to the male race. I've been called: cold, casual, cruel, a tease, coy, a flirt, bossy, a nag, impossible and unrealistic. So what if I am? Men are allowed to create fictional physical attributes of their dream woman, am I not allowed the same courtesy simply because I am one? I will admit the physicality means nothing to me; my main concern is with their personality which will extend past their brain function (though exceedingly desirable) and looks (which are the italics on the words of personality).
He was hand-picked in a way I never would have suspected. Honestly, it was the only way it could have happened and while I'm happy it happened, I'm also terrified. You see, he doesn't know me.
It started out casually, a search for a keyword, not looking for anyone in particular, I just happened to come across his profile. Astonished would be an understatement to describe my feelings upon the realization we had almost everything in common. We liked most of the same things. I'd never met someone like him before, or even heard of a boy resembling me in the slightest.
However, time whisked him from my thoughts, only to return him on a sleepless night when my thoughts happened to be lost and without a purpose. With a resurgence of energy only classified as 'miraculous' I managed to find him again, despite the many months separation. He'd updated a few things and linked it to another one of his profiles saturated with news of him. Disgusted by my curiosity and shamed by my need, I refrained for a Herculean 45 seconds before collapse of mental facilities.
I read, I watched, I followed and researched everything about his online presence. Life and responsibilities called so the pursuit stretched to a week in the full recovery, but I emerged, triumphant, and also completely filled with self-loathing.
For the new ones, I had sworn off men. There is a black list about 10 feet long filled with the ruined relationships of my past. I don't, as a rule, lie. There are better things to do with my time than churn out filthy stories to cover up what I shouldn't be ashamed to admit; I am human!; and remembering them is 75% of the hassle. My personal standards haven't been mirrored in my choice of companions. I haven't had a single relationship with a man end favorably. All my male friends eventually get a crush on me (I have no idea what they're attracted to... other than pity) which is not reciprocated and they either turn creepy or fizzle out (or both). If we end up dating, he invariably cheats on and abuses me. After long talks with myself, many poems and songs, I've determined I have horrible taste in men, or at least attract those who mean me the most harm. I can't trust myself or those who like me. We're all at fault.
The idea of a library filled with my works as I taught younger students how to let their own dragons emerge, their own stories and villains to fight their battles on a metaphorical plane appealed to my inner spinster. With careful cultivation, my thoughts became a veritable garden of progress and plans. There would be a house, a cat, a dog, a me, and five jobs to keep me occupied. 2 goats for those strange questions at work and to curb any male appetites which seems to happen despite my best efforts to remain untouched.
Back to him; the lonely life was perfect for me and I looked forward to full enjoyment of never sharing. He entered my cyber life and all bets were off. All I found out about him helped the tiny crush inside to swell. I wanted to meet him, get to know him, talk to him, find out if he's as good IRL as online.
And thus it ends. You are now up to date. I hope this relationship goes somewhere and we become the odd gamer-writer couple nobody expects to make it, but we're so similar it just makes sense. There's a certain... luster to a hand-picked suitor.
On the downside, I'm a pessimist by virtue of being an author and the possibility of my motto changing from 'I love love!' to 'Down with love!' increases almost infinitely if we don't work out; the numbers for us actually communicating are almost as low as our odds of going anywhere past online acquaintances.
Do I want to remain a spinster and fulfill my childhood dreams or will I have to be stabbed in the back first? What are the chances of 'us'? Why am I neurotic?
In the end I am, as are we all, afraid of rejection. I bounce back, but it's traditionally with a harder shell than before I fell in the first place. There will be no diving into the heart of depression when he tells me to bugger off, but there will be bitterness and a certain, 'I-told-you-so' speech from my brain; My brain is the true pessimist, after all.
You don't hear about people this perfect every day; and I know he has his faults (I don't know which ones, but by virtue of his being full-blooded human, he has them) but he's perfect for me. It's a terrible cliche and overused in excess but true in this case; at least if we follow the online profile, he is. Whether or not we'll meet in person and opportunity will arise to conduct a thorough exploration of his personality is yet to be seen, but I have hope.
For once.
No comments:
Post a Comment