Saturday, October 16, 2004

Why is it that someone can say certain things, and they don't mean anything near the way I think they mean?

Dear God, here we go again.

I remember sitting on the beach once with my friends. It was one of those bizarre love triangle situations. The guy who is a good friend of mine wasn't there, but, of course, I manage to be the only straight guy in the group, so the women and the gay man get to talking about particulars and favorite positions, and it was really sad and a pathetic—I feel a little shame recounting the situation—but since I was like hopelessly in love with the girl, I couldn't take it.

The whole point of that was that what evolved was a very bizarre conversation that was circumlocuitous (hmmm, that doesn't seem like a real word. Oh well) and vague. I refused to name name, to name situations, and merely gave abstract labels to things. We started talking about "first things" and "second things" and "third things," worse than lawyers, because there were no antecedents, just pronouns.

But the thing that was really bizarre, and heartwarming in a stupid and insane way, was that my friends understood what the hell I was talking about.

I almost wish I could've transcribed the conversation.

So, yeah, I am being deliberately avoidant and vague. I don't like giving names to things. I'm way too superstitious for my own good. I have this animistic belief that to give a name to something makes it become real, and I'm all for keeping my troubles imaginary, thank you very much.


Like if this woman I've been talking to. If what she says had the same meaning to her as the meaning that I would like it to have. Well.

The thing is, I have no problems with the mental side of things. Maybe even the emotional, the psychological. I just don't have any grasp of the physical dimension.

The one insecurity that I have struggled for years to shake is my belief that I am physically repulsive.

Which, comparatively speaking, I know isn't true. For one thing, I know perfectly well that standards of aesthetics are pretty arbitrary. For another, I know plenty of men much more disgusting than I who have no problems with getting some action.

See, this is the sick twisted part of me. On one hand, I'd like to interpret the things she says in a certain way, but on the other hand, I don't want anything to transpire. I know that it will only lead to pain and suffering on all accounts, and it would be best to be avoided.

Trying to avoid pain and suffering is basically trying to avoid life.

How fucking existential.


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