Sunday, May 16, 2004
Am I awake?
First off, I'm stoked about the Lakers advancing to the Western Conference Finals. Someone predicted they'd move past San Antonio in six games. Oh yeah, it was me. Anyway, so thrilled about that and still beaming over Derek Fisher's miracle shot in game five. Wow. I will reaffirm, now, that they are going all the way.
Secondly, fuck everyone. Well, wait, fuck girls. Well, wait again... I don't even know where I'm going with this. All I know is I'm sick and tired of harboring strong feelings for someone who isn't even remotely interested in me. I know that this is the case. Yet, I am still stupid enough to continue feeling like I can be something to her. I hate it. I hate it so much. The girl could give a shit about what becomes of me. I suppose that's just how it is. The heart wants what it can't have. Perhaps that's just my heart. As if in some past life, I raped and murdered a thousand babies and now, in this life, am paying dearly for it. Paying in a way that hurts myself without any others being conscious of it. Shit. Yes, I've been drinking tonight. What's fucking new? But I've been drinking the past few nights. I feel like its an unrelenting cycle of need and squashed desire. The sauce distracts me, but not long enough. And certainly not to the point where I can pay for all the alcohol I'll need for a given night. Tonight's tab ran $40. Sadly, that's moderate for me. Cheap is now considered a tab of $20. Much has changed since college.
Even now, she "sleeps" out on the porch, refusing any and all offers from me to help her to a bed. But this is only naturally so. It wouldn't be a weekend if I wasn't so helplessly retarded over this. This... Scenario. This scenario that has a magical way of playing itself out over and over and over again. And why do I care so much? I don't even know. I haven't a clue. But all I know is that I do. I care deeply. I care, knowing that she doesn't. I care, knowing that I should probably move on with my pathetic existence and look for someone else. I care, knowing that I don't obsess over girls like this because I find an exorbanent number of them to be worthless. That actually goes for people in general. I found out tonight that a few of my friends were under the distinct impression that I didn't like them upon first meeting them. I was pretty surprised to hear this, considering that I am quite fond of them. But they're probably telling the truth. I have a very critical eye when meeting new people. Sure, I'm easy to talk to and I don't have any problems meeting people, but I do tend to weed out almost immediately whom I will and will not associate myself with after meeting someone. That's only natural. We all do it. We know instantly whom we are tolerant of and whom we can't stand to be around within minutes of meeting them. Occasionally, our instincts are wrong, but not usually. So, with that in mind, I find it agonizing that so many people are completely worthless and can only, at the height of their being, disappoint you.
But the stupid part is I never seem to blame them. I don't really like the concept of "blame" in this sort of instance. However, if I lay any blame on disappointment, I lay it on myself. But why? Why would I beat myself up over something so stupid, so artificial, so abstract that no one could actually say, "Hey, so-and-so really fucked you over?" Because I'm the one who let them in. I let my guard down. I exercise poor judgment in determining who I let myself get emotionally attached to. I fuck myself over. I've always considered myself an excellent judge of character. That's why so so so many of my friends are excellent people of impeccable character and quality and why I've cut ties with everyone I considered an asshole. But the fact that this doesn't extend, yet, to a deeper level is not only disappointing, but makes me feel like I've done something wrong. Like I'm the one who fucked up everything for himself by letting someone in.
It's true, I'm a cynic. One of the worst kinds, at that. And I guess there's no denying that I'm feeling a little sorry for myself right now even though, in reality, I probably have no reason to feel bad at all. I'll chalk it up to equal parts alcohol, fear, and insecurity. Really, I'm so adjusted. I swear. It's incredibly human, I believe, to be so self-aware of these things. That, I think, is what pisses me off so much. There's an emptiness right now. A void. It's there. It doesn't make for complete happiness and it sure as hell pisses me off to know that I can make mistakes on such a colossal level. This whole feeling, right now, this whole diatribe of a post (sans Lakers) is a giant mistake on my part that I can't bring myself to accept. I suppose this is why I'm here typing at SO FUCKING TIRED O'CLOCK wondering why I can't get out of this mindset.
Still, she lays on the porch outside. Feet propped up, snug in a felt green blanket. I do believe she is actually asleep now. Just as well. All the Goldschlager in the kitchen is gone. The Popov, wretched and vile liquid that it is, is also dissipating. Perhaps I should just turn to sleep. Tomorrow is another day. With any luck, that day will include a "Drunken Waffle" breakfast. Hopefully, that will entail me spiking the original syrup at IHOP with cheap vodka. I think it could be a momentous occurrence. We shall see.
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Secondly, fuck everyone. Well, wait, fuck girls. Well, wait again... I don't even know where I'm going with this. All I know is I'm sick and tired of harboring strong feelings for someone who isn't even remotely interested in me. I know that this is the case. Yet, I am still stupid enough to continue feeling like I can be something to her. I hate it. I hate it so much. The girl could give a shit about what becomes of me. I suppose that's just how it is. The heart wants what it can't have. Perhaps that's just my heart. As if in some past life, I raped and murdered a thousand babies and now, in this life, am paying dearly for it. Paying in a way that hurts myself without any others being conscious of it. Shit. Yes, I've been drinking tonight. What's fucking new? But I've been drinking the past few nights. I feel like its an unrelenting cycle of need and squashed desire. The sauce distracts me, but not long enough. And certainly not to the point where I can pay for all the alcohol I'll need for a given night. Tonight's tab ran $40. Sadly, that's moderate for me. Cheap is now considered a tab of $20. Much has changed since college.
Even now, she "sleeps" out on the porch, refusing any and all offers from me to help her to a bed. But this is only naturally so. It wouldn't be a weekend if I wasn't so helplessly retarded over this. This... Scenario. This scenario that has a magical way of playing itself out over and over and over again. And why do I care so much? I don't even know. I haven't a clue. But all I know is that I do. I care deeply. I care, knowing that she doesn't. I care, knowing that I should probably move on with my pathetic existence and look for someone else. I care, knowing that I don't obsess over girls like this because I find an exorbanent number of them to be worthless. That actually goes for people in general. I found out tonight that a few of my friends were under the distinct impression that I didn't like them upon first meeting them. I was pretty surprised to hear this, considering that I am quite fond of them. But they're probably telling the truth. I have a very critical eye when meeting new people. Sure, I'm easy to talk to and I don't have any problems meeting people, but I do tend to weed out almost immediately whom I will and will not associate myself with after meeting someone. That's only natural. We all do it. We know instantly whom we are tolerant of and whom we can't stand to be around within minutes of meeting them. Occasionally, our instincts are wrong, but not usually. So, with that in mind, I find it agonizing that so many people are completely worthless and can only, at the height of their being, disappoint you.
But the stupid part is I never seem to blame them. I don't really like the concept of "blame" in this sort of instance. However, if I lay any blame on disappointment, I lay it on myself. But why? Why would I beat myself up over something so stupid, so artificial, so abstract that no one could actually say, "Hey, so-and-so really fucked you over?" Because I'm the one who let them in. I let my guard down. I exercise poor judgment in determining who I let myself get emotionally attached to. I fuck myself over. I've always considered myself an excellent judge of character. That's why so so so many of my friends are excellent people of impeccable character and quality and why I've cut ties with everyone I considered an asshole. But the fact that this doesn't extend, yet, to a deeper level is not only disappointing, but makes me feel like I've done something wrong. Like I'm the one who fucked up everything for himself by letting someone in.
It's true, I'm a cynic. One of the worst kinds, at that. And I guess there's no denying that I'm feeling a little sorry for myself right now even though, in reality, I probably have no reason to feel bad at all. I'll chalk it up to equal parts alcohol, fear, and insecurity. Really, I'm so adjusted. I swear. It's incredibly human, I believe, to be so self-aware of these things. That, I think, is what pisses me off so much. There's an emptiness right now. A void. It's there. It doesn't make for complete happiness and it sure as hell pisses me off to know that I can make mistakes on such a colossal level. This whole feeling, right now, this whole diatribe of a post (sans Lakers) is a giant mistake on my part that I can't bring myself to accept. I suppose this is why I'm here typing at SO FUCKING TIRED O'CLOCK wondering why I can't get out of this mindset.
Still, she lays on the porch outside. Feet propped up, snug in a felt green blanket. I do believe she is actually asleep now. Just as well. All the Goldschlager in the kitchen is gone. The Popov, wretched and vile liquid that it is, is also dissipating. Perhaps I should just turn to sleep. Tomorrow is another day. With any luck, that day will include a "Drunken Waffle" breakfast. Hopefully, that will entail me spiking the original syrup at IHOP with cheap vodka. I think it could be a momentous occurrence. We shall see.
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