3:12 p.m. x 2003-08-29
today i'm hoping to go out with tweak.
today i'm hoping to not be alone.
i'd like to think that making someone feel unalone is a somewhat easy task. you smile at them, talk to them, look at them, and make them feel like they're being listened to. not make them feel like they're part of the wall, or a receptical or mechanism of any sort.
if you can do this, you are not as socially inept as you think.
social interaction has become increasingly interesting to me, as i now have to be social again, and it's made me furious with my unconcious, habitual, behavioral quirks. ESPECIALLY the unavoidable: the adolescent crush. i make it nearly impossible for myself to enjoy the uniquely intense experience that is lust - i tend to turn it into a very frustrating obstacle.
first - i will see the lad randomly somewhere. after a few times, my eyes will start to trail after him - as the body tends to be ahead of the brain, my eyes will like him before the rest of me will. then there is always the possibility of interaction - we may be in a position where it would be appropriate to speak to one another, wherein a vice will spin around my brain and lock it in awe of this young man. this makes speaking and expression in general nearly impossible, and more agitating than fun. as this happens over time, a feeling of resentment builds around this boy, and i feel the need to whack him over the dear little head with my algebra book and scream "ASSHOLE! YOU MADE ME LIKE YOU!"
that CANNOT be a good example of human social interaction. i suppose this is why god made almost every man i've ever had random pangs of lust for gay - somehow, this makes everything alright for everyone, and why i have a contented relationship with my imaginary husband. and the fact that i can make him (if only in my mind) smile at me, listen to me, talk to me, etc. makes him more socially apt than over half the people i reqularly interact with.
if anybody should ask i'm going to a seminar
pieces of the moon
sensitive heart, you're doomed from the start