Had a date 'date' recently and nearly killed myself, mostly because I was so not aware that I was on a date. Don't arrange to meet me after nearly 2 years of cordial enough platonic friendship just so you can flirt outrageously with me when all I wanted was, oh I don't know what I was thinking, just to be a friend. I was just trying to be nice.
I try not to turn people down because it would imply that I put myself on some sort of pedestal or that I actually have a standard, a criteria, for my friends, which really, I try my best not to have at all. I like to think that every person, regardless of gender, is worth a chance to get to know, to learn to love, to spend time with, free from all of my personal prejudices and preconceived notions. Rejection is painful, and I will not give it so freely. But when you treat me as some sort of... object, to play with, you can jolly well just go screw yourself. I don't care about whether you paid everything for me or not. I don't care about how "cute" (I hate being labelled as "cute"), or how "talented", or whatever, you think I am. I am not some cheap and easy target. The whole thing was just soooo superficial. Conversation was dull and boring and meaningless. And I felt as though I had wasted my day on someone with raging hormones, who would have done much better getting acquainted with himself in the toilet thank you.
God please forgive me. I lied about some severely depressed friend who needed instant therapy and escaped without looking back. I am so mean. And I don't regret it.
The thought I had right after that:
I really, really, love my friends. Seriously. And thank you to the idiot who came to pick up the pieces much, much later.
Oh wells. I guess its quite funny now that I'm out of it. Its little things like this that makes life so much more... Amusing.
I can only hope that your life has been as eventful as mine. Wahaha.
On a more serious note, the world has been very noisy these days. Too many piercing voices and I just want to crawl into bed and drink in the silence. Of course, everything will come to a pass. The question is, if it's soon enough for me. I'm tired of knowing exactly what to say all the time. I'm tired of being afraid to say the wrong things. I'm tired of being too, too careful with my words.
"Should I kill her?" he asked.
He wasn't joking. How do I answer something like this?
"No," I said simply, obviously.
"Should I kill her?" he asked again.
There should be things I'm not supposed to know. Or does this only apply to children? She tells me about how has to "fuck him" and how much it hurts. She hates sex. But he tells me that a man has needs. And the issue of money. There never is enough money. I want to make so much money that I can shove it down your throat and shut you up. And who do I love most? Talk. Talk to me, they insists. Lonely people are the hardest to love, the hardest to leave. And do I understand? I must. I do. And do I hate him as much as she does? And do I hate her as much as he does? My ears are bleeding. My mouth is open but nothing comes out because I have to think. There are no straight answers. I'm tired. I should be used to it by now. I've had enough practise sessions. But I'm not. I might never be. And I'm tired. Of being tired. And I'm sorry. I love you I love you I love you both but I don't know.
Maybe I don't want to know.
It was nearly a full moon yesterday. I thought suddenly how very much I would like to be in the circle of light which it emanates. To linger in the glow of its gentle gentle glory. And to watch the darkness all around, nearly touching me, but not quite. There's so much space out there. So much room, to breathe.