I've tried to start this before. Many times.
So much for content. That's the gist of it. What happened? Hmm...
I got back to mooning. That's part of it. Ah, I never actually thought I'd stop, not for long, but it was nice feeling I was free for a while. But I can't imagine living my life impervious to the glances and words and thoughts of women. The promises of freedom pale in the light of Her eye.
I have said it before, and I will again, I make a lousy bachelor. I was not meant to be single.
So much of my life, my heart, my soul has been spent in the pursuit of happiness for the woman I love. I live to create smiles, laughter, joy, thought, growth, discovery, comfort, satisfaction, pleasure...
Being single sucks. I hardly know what to do with myself. I find, as most people seem to, that it is inordinately hard to find the right someone to date. I also find it excessively difficult to ask anyone out in the first place. Damned self-doubts.
Oh, and damned "Johnny-come-ahead-of-me"'s as well. Not that I've actually been seriously scooped. Just that they give me an excuse to blame somebody other than myself for missing out on delightful opportunities.
And there was one, the cutest one in the whole show, she came up to me and started a conversation. Felt like spring had suddenly opened up in the midst of November, and I swear I turned over on my head -- ran away like a dunce, and now I begin to wonder if I had my senses on straight. I'm endeavoring to rectify the situation, but I suspect I'm coming across as either foolish or cyber-creepy. Sigh. There are many circumstances in which I wouldn't mind the former, for I *am* a Fool, no doubt about it. But a creep? I sure hope not.
I bounce, a deflection from the mirrored insomnia that shields me from my all-too distant sleep.
That was the short story. I had begun the long version in another diary entry, but that turned out poorly. I wish I had the words to impress and dazzle. All I have are these. I feel like Huck Finn, with a passle of rocks and sand in my trouser pockets, and a hole worn through in one.
I *do* have the words to impress and dazzle: they're just not with me this evening. Morning. Time of not sleeping.
Where am I going with any of this? The website, the diary, etc. A sizeable chunk of why I haven't written a diary entry lately is not that I've been content for the last month and a half, but that I've doubted the ameliorating affects that writing publically would have. Didn't want to have to explain, discuss, debate... or be judged?
I'm in this aching mood of wanting solutions, knowing I can't just make them like a sandwich, and even if I could, I'm lacking some of the vital ingredients. Or misplaced them, anyway.
I keep thinking of the women I've met lately, the ones that have me all spun around and wondering which way is up. I keep looking for answers in them, either in who they are or in how I respond to them. I keep telling myself that's not the way, that I won't discover all the meaning of the world in some girl's eyes. But I don't always believe myself.
I don't lie to other people. Not so much as I lie to myself, anyway.
And she whispered, "It's okay."
Not true, not true. Just a daydream and half a lifetime away, anyway.
How do I act like a normal person, when all my life I have been anything but? How do I date in a normal way, when all I want is an utterly extraordinary woman? How ridiculous is that?
I see all these half-starbursts around me. Women whose minds, souls, bodies surround me with brilliant delights, dazzle me like a kid in a playground, and all I want is to race them to the next sunset and fall down in a heap of wonder and giggles. But shadows within and without mar the scene with imperfections and impatience, doubts like smog thicken my brain and dull my senses.
Ach. Bad metaphors. I think. Or maybe all metaphors are bad. Some folks I know would have me think that.
Anyway. Ever had a flower talk to you? I admit, I panicked, and now all I can think of are time machines and hoping an email can replace a friendly smile and a simple request. Mayhap I misunderstood the flower's purpose in the first place.
And then there's the firebrand. The brooding, yearning knife. She cuts as she tempts, and I don't know if I can get on the safe side of her blade -- or if there is a safe side, in spite of the warm promise of need and amazement.
I should probably simply dive in, rather than hang back with hopes of friendship and discoveries equally made. Ah, but therein lies the rub, I see as I write that... one seeks equality. One seeks an urge to discover, to share, to learn each about the other. And in this case, as with most of the women I'm interested in, I doubt I'll find what I seek.
There are days, I swear I'll just marry the first woman to ask me out. Damned society.
And all I want right now is somebody who's interested in me. God, but that sounds pathetic, but it's true. I keep asking these women what they want in life, who they are, beneath the daily grind and the monotony of school and work, and some small voice inside me asks, when will someone ask *me* these questions? When can I take a break from being the gentleman, the wooer, and be wooed myself?
Yet another reason I come back to Mollie, again and again. Oh, it wasn't much, but the fact is, she came after me. I was mostly blind to it at the time, but I look back and it's clear as day.
Was I more attractive at 15 and clueless?
Or is Mollie just that special?
Or does it have nothing to do with either fact, whether true or not? Auuuugh... there are no answers here. Just interminable questions, meanderings, wishings and musings. A lost childhood searching through my misty mind.
On a tangent, less misty... went to Sangeeta's housewarming party. Damn, but she was looking fantastic; and I foolishly showed up in a Hawaiian shirt and shorts, or something less-than-ideal like that. And later than I'd hoped, such that a dozen folks were there, so instead of chatting with her one-on-one before having to go, I was only able to get a plate of food -- it felt extra rude to come and NOT sample her much-touted cooking -- and listen to the conversations going about. Oh, I'll admit that I was nervous about talking to her in such a crowd, and so I sat closer to the only face I really knew (Toomey, from TACIT). Not smart. Not smart. And so the conversations I heard came largely from the guests, rather than Sangeeta... and they were *all* Techers in the midst of midterms.
Have I mentioned how glad I am that I've graduated? And that I don't have to discuss classes anymore? That, however mundane my conversations are these days, they far surpass the agonizing experience of bitching about grades and coursework.
I'm not saying there's a darn thing wrong with any of those folks for complaining, or for talking about their schooling. Lord knows I did plenty of it when I was in their position. I guess what I'm saying is, I'm so glad I'm NOT in their position anymore. And I so do not want to go back to a place of discussing classes and Tech, not anytime soon. Goldurn it, I'm grajitated! I did my time! ;-)
It was all so meaningless to me, especially since most of them were bio majors, that I simply couldn't connect with anybody, except for Toomey (a MechE) and the guy who was doin a Lit major with Gilmartin. Which was at once depressing and uplifting. Of course, the unfortunate thing was, I didn't actually talk with Sangeeta at all.
I really bitched myself out for my communication skills for that day, but now I find myself sitting at a low boil over her own failure to communicate. And it's happened before. And I wonder if it's just a problem with me being hypersensitive to language and silence, or if she simply doesn't respect the fact that I'd like to know what's going on when she threatens a friend of mine, even if it was pretty clearly intended as hyperbole.
Blargh.
Anything I can do? Nope. Wait. And I am not, it turns out, a patient man. Not that that's news. In Chem 3, I started a titration, climbed up on the lab bench, and proceeded to take a nap. Would've gotten away with it, too, but for one of my fellow students (Diana? Sam? my brain is muddy this morning) pointing at me and saying, "Hey! He can't do that!" That's when the TA finally came over.
I would've gotten away with it, too...
Anywho.
The sunrise glows. Well, actually, it was glowing three or four hours ago...
My sister pointed out some glaring flaws in my thought processes a few weeks ago, and thus I almost asked out a certain someone, but then I remembered some other points which had kept me from doing the same long ago, so I didn't. How romantic.
Blah. Self-justification blows chunks.
Comes back to figuring out what I want, after all. What makes me happy, that whole song and dance. E la, but I'm tired. Tired of so much.
I want somebody to think with. Somebody to be on equal footing with. Somebody to believe in, and be believed in. To inspire, and be inspired by.
Some days, I swear that's all I need right now.
What do I want? A challenge worth meeting. Faith in the world. Fresh air, swords dancing. To lose five or fifteen pounds, whichever is more. Poetry written for me... a rose, a smile, and the universe turned upside down.
I want my company to have enough money and enough intelligence to let me do what I do best, instead of whittling away my time and their money doing mental bottle washing. Damn, but I could make Whyville a helluva place if they'd let me write my stories, my characters, my world. Bring 'em in just to see the soap opera, man.
I want to remind myself why I was such hot shit before I came to the ego-crushing Machine that is Caltech. Because I know I still have those mad skillz within me, and not a few more added on -- like singing -- since then.
The one skill I have that I have utter confidence in is love. And I'm wasting away here, playing wounded bachelor. Meh, not playing all that much. I only wish it were a game.
Days are, I don't want to write a diary entry because I'm certain everything in my heart is but a repeat of the complaints and bleats I've made before. Damned self-deprecation. Keeping the pen silent is the last damn thing I need.
For some reason, I'm cursing more in this entry than usual. Oh, it's mostly damns and damneds, but it's getting repetetive and uncreative. I think. Zoom!
What else to say? Daisy, Daisy, tell me your answer, do...
Sigh.
Why didn't I just keep talking to her? Now I'm chasing after a missed opportunity, a sliding door, separated lives and futures all scattered to the sky.
Skittles. Taste the rainbow.
Got rehearsal tonight. Probably have to wake me up for it. I should go try to get some sleep. But I cling to the keyboard, hoping I can pound out some intelligence, claw my brain till it bleeds words of import... solutions. Answers. Directions. Plans that won't fail, actions that I can't doubt, dreams to have eternal faith in.
Life is too damn iffy.
This whole thing is just a rehash of old complaints. No doubt. Old wishes. All still fresh and alive and beating, but still, repetition. So it feels. Why can't I break through? Why do I feel like there's something to break through?
Where is my inspiration? Where the woman that will sunder the stars and make it impossible for me to cling to my insecurities and anchors, force me with strength and soul-beauty to take wing on our words and meanings and and and...
I should sleep. Stop torturing myself. And any poor, poor readers who have endured this stuff so far.
Good night. May you always know fulfilled promises.
Hmmm... which makes me think of "Unanswered Prayers"... hmmm... "Some of God's greatest gifts / Are unanswered prayers"...
It's been true. It'll be true again. Keep that in mind.