Questions: Should I Be Asking Them?

Tuesday again—my favourite day of the week by far. I had an editing exam which I thought I'd go well in, but I could have gone a lot better. That took my confidence down more than a notch, but I'm certain that I passed, so I'm not too worried. Besides, the tutorial's where the fun's at... somewhat.

The start was simply epic. Earlier in the session, we had to submit pieces of prose to be edited by the class in a workshop kind of fashion—mine was first up. Being a comedian, I obviously submitted something I thought would get lulz, and I've wanted to know all term how it goes with regards to evoking said lulz. I had two distinct images in my head:

1. People begin to read, and as the reading goes on, laughter is scattered across the room, people giggle every now and then.
2. People begin to read, and they read in dead silence, not a noise is heard, not a smirk is seen.

Thankfully, I got the first one: many lulz were had ^_^  I haven't had that feeling of comic success for so long that I began to shake. I love that feeling. Some people wanted to see it performed, saying it'd work well on stage (its initial form), so I now have five minutes of material I know works. That's valuable—if I ever perform this, I know I'll succeed to at least some degree, making it good for a comedy competition or some other performance scenario where experimentation is dangerous and could lead to utter failure.

As for that girl who sits across the room goes... not so good.

I wanted to see how much she was laughing (if at all), but didn't glance over, nor did I get too much feedback from her—not a good sign. She wasn't smiling much today either. That's the most beautiful thing any woman can do: be happy and show it. I know people aren't happy all the time, but she was happier last week, at least a little bit. I wanted to see her smile so bad, but I never did. I guess I could be looking at that in relation to my piece, thinking that it failed to make her smile, but I don't know if that's true or not. I just want to see her smile, to see her happy.

Her default face is kind of like my default face: it leans more towards 'apathetic' than 'content' or even 'neutral'. She seems a little apathetic overall, which turns me off a little—my previous girlfriend's apathy was part of what led to her shitty handling of the break-up. I know she can be interested in things; I've seen it. When she's interested, she gets involved, she gets excited—perhaps she's bi-polar? I know I am :P

I'm having second thoughts. I guess it's better to have those now than anywhere else down the track, but seeing her cheered me up heaps last week—what happened? Is it that I want to make her happy myself, or just that I want her to be happy? What does that even mean? Am I faking concern just to prolong some pseudo-attraction, or am I genuinely unhappy because I didn't see her smile? I know seeing her smile makes me happy, that's definitely true... is the inverse true? Is that a prerequisite for attraction? I mean, today, her legs were exposed, her attire differing from the usual long pants or stockings she wears—to me, that's fucking awesome on a physical level, but in my mind, the lack of smile takes precedent. Is that a sign of something more? I don't know.

I have one more week where I'm guaranteed to see her, then a super-long break (seven weeks... holy crap :P). I highly doubt I'm gonna talk to her next week, so I suppose I'll just have to wait and see how I feel after the break.

Well, if I'm still going to uni... which I might not be, if I absolutely fail... ah well, there's always stalking :P

Cool: That Which I Am Not

At least I know that even motherfuckers as legendary as Pryor had problems similar to mine :P

I'm getting a little worried... I've only just come to the realisation that there are only two weeks left in the semester. After that, all my classes change (provided I'm not kicked out or something :P). My classes change, my classmates change. To put it bluntly, I only have two weeks left where I have any solid chance of seeing her in class again. I know we do the same course and hence will definitely share lectures, but tutorials are far smaller and my chances of scoring one with her aren't in my favour—besides, I can't hear her voice or see her smile in lectures, at least not without giving myself away :P

The answer seems simple, right?

Talk to her.
Get to know her.
Befriend her.
From there, it's easy.

That might be simple for you, but it's not for me :P  I just suck at meeting people—I don't go anywhere or do anything (uni for me consists of class and existing friends :P), I'm extremely hesitant to talk to anyone I haven't spoken to before, and I have no confidence whatsoever. I am socially deficient; I haven't had the experiences others have had in the field. I was walking around uni with a friend of mine today—he bumped into at least six or seven people he knew, starting conversations with each one while I stood there like a jackass unable to speak :P  I can't talk to strangers, not without a damned good reason.

But, surely, wanting to get to know someone I'm interested in is good reason, right? Not really :P

Forget social justification, or even emotional justification; I need logical justification. There must exist a need to talk to someone for a reason they won't think of as suspicious in any regard. It was easy to talk to my previous girlfriend because we were in the same friend group—that made it really easy for me to get to know her. Here, however, I've got no connections whatsoever, at least none I'm aware of. If I can fucking find one, I can worm my way in and be done with this bullshit; going up to her alone, on the other hand, is suicide. Think about it: what would you think if some random guy you know from one of your classes, who's never spoken to you nor been encountered outside of class, came up and said 'Hi!', or 'How are you?', or 'What's up?', or anything else? To me, no matter the person, they're just gonna think '...what the fuck's up with this guy? Who is he and why is he talking to me? Creepy! ' Bad fucking vibe :P

I need an excuse to talk to her, something validated by external forces. I need to legitimately accidentally bump into her and make her drop her stuff. I need her to forget her pen and have to ask me for one. I need to do some group assignment with her. I need a friend of hers to know a friend of mine to make for a nice, clean introduction. I need some goddamned help here! Help the noob! :P

I think I mentioned in one of my earlier entries that 'the prescription on my balls had run out', comparing my current level of courage to that of two years ago when I asked a girl out who I'd never really spoken to. This is still true, most certainly, but I think we can all agree that asking this new girl out when I haven't talked to her isn't the best way to go about this :P  I could, if I really put myself on the spot and said 'fuck it, it's all or nothing!', but that tact is sure to get me little more than a goofy look and a rather quick rejection.

I wouldn't really care about this all that much, but these feelings seem to have intensified significantly since Tuesday. I didn't think about her too much when not sharing that class, not until now. I can't be sure if I'm simply clinging onto whatever I can find again, perhaps getting overzealous and liking someone simply for the sake of liking someone. I'm well aware that one's perception of any issue can be heavily altered by external factors—but there are things I really like about this girl, attractions I can understand, simple as they may be. I could look at her for hours, that's a given; and what little I've seen of her personality and psyche I adore and want to see more of. It's gotten to the stage where I'm like 'That's what attraction is, right? That's how it's supposed to work, yeah?' It's been that long :P

I think my libido's getting impatient, too. Sex has been on the brain for a while—it's something I really want to experience, and soon. I'm repeatedly comparing myself to those around me, always looking around at uni and going '...he's fucked... he's fucked... she's fucked... he's probably fucked... you know they're fucking... he's fucked... she's probably fucked... she's fucked...' I don't know if I'd feel more comfortable or more freaked out if I knew anyone else who did that :P  I've dreamed of having sex and making love that many fucking times that I just want to do it. I've repeatedly told myself that 'I'll wait until I can do it with someone I have feelings for, to make it memorable and to ensure more comfort and security'. I know all the while, however, that I could easily go to a party, find a slut with low standards, and fuck her brains out; or, if I was prepared to shell out a bit, go to a brothel and pay for my coming of age. I don't want to, though. I want my first experience to be that of making love, not just having sex.

With that term, 'making love', I used to think it was purely a euphemism employed to allow the discussion of sex in more conservative contexts without offending the easily offended. I've come to different terms since all those months ago when I wanted to lose my virginity at my Formal's after-party. I don't know if other people think this way—maybe this is just another instance of me falling behind in the social arena :P—but to me, making love is having sex because of love. In my head, there's a big difference in me having sex with a woman and me making love with a woman. All you've gotta do to have sex is stimulate the sexual organs with the intent of reaching orgasm, usually through the insertion of a phallus into an orifice. Sure, you can have accompanying kissing/hugging/foreplay/whatever else, but the reasoning behind that is more physical than emotional. Making love is more of a full on process, at least from what I like to envision. There's a distinct look on the face, controlled movements of the body to ensure mutual pleasure, and a force behind it all that pushes both parties closer and closer to one another the entire way through. It's something I've never seen recreated well on a screen—and besides, the images in my head were developed by me for me, so they're gonna have more impact anyhow :P

That's how I wanna lose my virginity: through that act and that act alone. My pleasure in fantasising always stems off the pleasure I see through the woman's expressions, and that's what I want to experience: a mutual feeling where I want to be with a woman to the point where I become as close as I can possibly be with her. The problem is, that will only come from a steady relationship.

Even though I speak commonly on my lack of self confidence and disbelief in what's mentioned above from having any real place in reality, I still want it, and I want it more every day, even if it's by just a little bit. It's not like I'm gonna rape someone if I don't get pussy soon—I mean, couldn't rape a six year old if I tried (I'd say something like 'and believe me, I have!' ... but no one believes me). The urge, however, will always be there. My physical feelings for this girl explored in this way give me a little incentive to try and talk to her, but not much. Her pussy can't talk anyway; her mind can, but I'm yet to meet it. I want to meet it, but I just don't have it in me to go through with it on my own. At the same time, however, I don't want to just wait and hope for a miracle, because that's probably not going to happen.

...how do I relationship :P

Beauty: In Language and People

I went to bed at 11 pm last night; I wasn't asleep until sometime past 3am the next morning.
I woke up with 10 minutes to get ready; it took me 15.
I got to my editing lecture 10 minutes late.

But goddamn, I'm happy right now.

Editing class does that to me. If the language is drugs, grammar is my crack cocaine: pure and dangerous. I mean, it's the only class where I really know what I'm doing. It's not like I'm not learning anything—if anything, I learn more and more each week—but it's the only class where I sit down and know I'm gonna kick ass in at least some respect. Substantive editing (editing for tone, consistency, redundancies, point of view, etc.) isn't the easiest and I'm only just picking it up, but there's a real buzz out of picking up someone's work and ripping it to pieces, suggesting better ways to say things, questioning all the ambiguities—brings out the superiority complex in everyone :P  Line-by-line editing (accidental narcotics pun FTW :D), however, is my favourite: droppin' punctuation like a boss, correcting the typos even Word would miss... fucking fun ^_^

I somehow managed to get into a little discussion with the teacher on whether the word 'over' in the title One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest was a preposition. Without really realising it, I'd come to a stronger conclusion than she had, being correct in stating that it was indeed a preposition rather than an adverb (as had been contested). She then complimented me on my grammatical ability in general—to quote NintendoCapriSun: so happy! It's just good to know the work I've put in to my technical writing skills over the years has paid off. On one hand, it's probably a little ridiculous that such a small compliment can make me feel so proud; but I know when I've earned my keep, and this is one keep I have fucking earned. 1 smiley approved for display :)

On the other hand... don't call my grammar good when there's a woman I'm interested in sitting across from me! You trollin'? Don't fucking troll me now, not with this! I already have next to no chance—are you gonna rob a poor man? The only thing I like more than that class is her... and she's in that class... so, not only am I doing lines, but I've also got a needle sticking out my arm! It doesn't matter what she wears, how she does her hair, who she's with, her mood that day... she's beautiful. Every class with her sees my urge to talk to her grow—and that's seriously the only thing I wanna do with her right now! Well... not the only thing, but the first thing, most certainly! I keep saying to myself 'Goddamn it, seriously, I would kill people just to talk to her. I'd slaughter half the fucking room just to get so much as a five minute conversation! I'll go Virginia Tech level if I have to—I don't care!' ...what the fuck am I talking about? I'll commit academic genocide, but won't go up to a girl I'm interested in and say 'Hi!'? These drugs are fucking my sense of logic right up :P

What's unusual is that I don't want to look at her. I actively prevent myself from doing that. The urge to ogle was stronger today than it has been for the past few weeks... it's getting harder and harder to not look :P  It's that thing where you want to look at someone, so you do, and then they look at you perchance, and you instantaneously look away thinking you've gotten away with it... then you go right back to looking at the person, they look at you again perchance, and you look away again—as if that trick's gonna work twice :P  She makes me forget all the shortcomings I usually think of when dreaming of women in solitude. I'm not even in the picture—it's just her. I don't know if that's love, and the label doesn't matter to me: all that matters is that I'm happy when I see her. Maybe I'll talk to her, maybe not—I really want to—but for now, I just like seeing her. I'll take what happiness I can get right now: if seeing her makes me happy, so be it. They're not dirty thoughts, nor intrusive, confusing, ambiguous, hurtful: just beautiful. Like her innocent smile... and the eyes that pop out of her head... and her curly hair... and her skin...

Beautiful like her :)

Tenacity: A Cunt in all its Forms

As you'll soon see, if I could start this one off with a relevant quotation, you wouldn't be here :P

It's 1:49 in the morning. Uni starts at 8:30 for me tomorrow. I should be asleep, or at least in bed trying to sleep. Insomnia's been a problem for me lately, oftentimes gatecrashing at around midnight and insisting I carry on playing Tetris, persist in listening to sceptics of religion, and write things like this when I should be tucked in. I've grown to hate this and have made considerable efforts to get back in line—it was fine when I didn't have a schedule to adhere to, but now I do, so it just serves to fuck me up and leave me without energy at a time when attentiveness is everything. I woke up later than usual yesterday morning which certainly isn't helping, but that's not why I'm up.

Fuck, make that 2:12 in the morning :P

Go back a couple of hours: I'm on YouTube, as per usual, when I get an email from Facebook: an invitation to an event of some kind. I'm not invited to events very often, nor do I know of any upcoming event I'd expect to receive an invite to, so I'm curious as to what it is. Upon taking a glance, I gather its a petition for some kind of music thingy, the invitation sent by one of the more musical people on my friends list. I start reading through it, and do a little research on the subject matter. Turns out there's a budget deficit issue at another uni that's lead them to plan to axe half the music staff, as to get the facility back in the black so to speak (a conclusion I'd more or less come to when I'd finished reading the text in the Facebook event: university's a business first and an educational facility second :P).

Didn't take long for me to process this: the students who applied for any qualifications stemming from participation in the music programs did so on what was advertised to them. What was advertised to them was, among other things, access to a comprehensive musical program led by all the staff that worked there, not just the half that'll keep their jobs if this goes ahead. That's retroactive false advertising, plain and simple. +1 signature for your petition. Thing was, the person who invited me still went to high school... so whose petition was it?

Then I saw the name up the top, having missed it when I first arrived at the page: Sally.

For some reason, as soon as I saw that name, I started to feel weird. I can't explain what it was, but I soon became restless and had to get out of my chair. I wasn't in some kind of uncontrollable fit, but I was certainly irritable. I was shaking a little too, pacing around my room, murmuring incoherently every now and then. After a good ten-to-fifteen minutes of that, I sat on my bed and just silently pondered the clusterfuck that was my brain at that point. I didn't understand what was going on. At some point during all this, as if in disbelief, I walked over to the computer and hovered over her name: up popped the little box with her picture. I'd done little more than see her name and her face, and my mind had gone into an infinite regression, my chest felt heavy and tense, and I was shaking—it may have only been mild, but it was still involuntary.

What the fuck happened?

Seriously, what was that? I want to know! It's not like this person's fucking traumatised me; she's just some girl I liked years ago, who I also happened to want to date and sleep with at my Year 12 Formal. This wasn't a repeat of such desire; it was anything but feelings of desire. It was just awkward, tense and uncomfortable, perhaps anxiety, leaving me unable to concentrate on anything else for a good fifteen to twenty minutes. I haven't been feeling the best lately (evident in the last two entries), but this wasn't depression; it was just strange, something I haven't really felt before, something I'd rather not feel again.

We have thoughts, but thoughts are fluid. Then we assign a word to a thought... and we're stuck with that word for that thought...

George Carlin

Replace 'word' with 'symbol', and that's my belief in terms of how we understand thought. I could be way off base, but that's what I think for the meantime: we understand thoughts by assigning symbols to them that we can relate to. In this case, I have no symbol to which I can relate almost anything that went through my head—no word, no phrase, no clause, no sentence, no paragraph, no picture, no video, no sound, no song, nothing. What did come back were simply the two most recent images I have of her: seeing her at the Formal after-party, the last time I would see her. Both images were mentioned in an article I published recently discussing those events and my previous writing on them.

One is of the very last time I saw her in the flesh:

[Right before I went home], I looked over one last time at the tent area to see Sally and her friends sitting around. Still, there was no smile.

The other, far stronger, is of the last time I spoke to her:

I returned to the camp-fire to see Sally still warming herself. I took the (only) spare seat next to her, and looked at her. She looked down... really down...

"Hello, Sally. How are you?"

"I'm alright... how are you?"

"I'm OK... ... ...you don't look like you're having very much fun."

"That's because I'm not."

Even though I want to remember her as the happy, kind-hearted girl I had feelings for all those years ago, the last time I saw her didn't capture any such emotion. Even her profile picture didn't deliver a look much different to the one I remember—it's honestly a stupid question, but I've even wondered if she's smiled at all since I last saw her. Any time I think of her (which, contrary to what this article may suggest, is far from often), those are the two images that usually end up dominating my memory. I don't want to remember her in that more positive way to instil feelings for her. If anything, I want to avoid having feelings for her—it's fucking moronic to think we could ever be something. We aren't even acquaintances, let alone friends; we have nothing in common with each other; we live in totally different places and do totally different things; we are incompatible. Granted, I can assert that these feelings aren't ones of love nor lust, but that doesn't mean I know what they actually are. 

I've heard things recently about people having feelings for others far beyond rejection, long after they've supposed to have moved on—I really, really don't want that. I have better things to do than ponder over a future I can guarantee won't come to light, and she has better shit to do than hear about me ever again (like, I don't know... worrying about her education :P). If I'm going to remember her at all, however that remembrance be inspired, I want it to be at least somewhat positive, not me having a mini-freakout over such nothingness as seeing her name :P 

I don't know why it hurts, and being a male (hence thinking everything's a competition :P), I want to know what's going on, to crush ignorance and misunderstanding under my foot and claim victory through knowledge and comprehension. Falling short of that, I'd just like it to stop and not happen again. Perhaps these feelings do mean something, and I don't want to block any emotion just because it makes me feel uncomfortable, but I hate feeling like shit for no reason.

3:31... sigh :P

Inadequacy: Seemingly Preferable to Intervention

WARNING GUARANTEE: This album contains material which a truly free society would neither fear nor suppress. In some socially retarded areas, religious fanatics and ultra-conservative political organizations violate your First Amendment Rights by attempting to censor rock & roll albums. We feel that this is un-Constitutional and un-American. As an alternative to these government-supported programs (designed to keep you docile and ignorant), Barking Pumpkin is pleased to provide stimulating digital audio entertainment for those of you who have outgrown the ordinary. The language and concepts contained herein are GUARANTEED NOT TO CAUSE ETERNAL TORMENT IN THE PLACE WHERE THE GUY WITH THE HORNS AND POINTED STICK CONDUCTS HIS BUSINESS. This guarantee is as real as the threats of the video fundamentalists who use attacks on rock music in their attempt to transform America into a nation of check-mailing nincompoops (in the name of Jesus Christ). If there is a hell, its fires wait for them, not us.

'Warning' found on the inner sleeve of Frank Zappa Meets The Mothers of Prevention, by Frank Zappa

Reading shit like that just makes me smile... which helps a lot :P 

Only a few hours ago, I was feeling really down: I felt almost worthless, as though I was little more than a bother to anyone and everyone around me—classic depression symptoms all over again :P  What was strange, though, was that I didn't want it to go away. Have you ever felt like that? You ever been moping around, feeling absolutely horrible, as though you're worth nothing, yet you don't want to stop feeling that way? I find that unusual, but at the same time it makes sense from a certain perspective.

The way I see it: I get myself in these states of depression when one negative thought is pondered on for too long, culminating in to many more negative thoughts which quickly destroys any notion of happiness or worth—this was mentioned in my previous entry, the process perfectly understood. This is followed by me pondering the worst possible scenarios I can think of pertaining to these negative thoughts, where my life is beyond all meaning and hope is completely lost. This is then assumed to be what will happen to me in the future, resulting in a predictable emotional purge. This purge is usually nothing more than me sitting around continuing to ponder on and internally progress this personal hell, at times resulting in tears, although this is usually short lived and is never far beyond my control—I'm not wailing or screaming, just quietly crying. This has happened many times before (far more often last year when I was actually bona fide depressed :P) and as such is of no surprise to me.

What happens after this, however, is a little perplexing: I don't want it to stop. I want to maintain this state of despair; I want to go on feeling sad rather than recovering and feeling any better. That's what I don't want: recovery, a resolve, a reason to quit feeling the way I do. I want to feel like this forever, never returning to whatever positive state I was in before the episode in question started; I want to accept emotional defeat, like it's the more rational thing to do (with happiness being such a pipe dream and all), and go on living the rest of my life in this condition. The reason for this, as far as I can tell, is simple: what goes up must come down. I've just come down... again :P  Therefore, it seems unreasonable to get up and expect to stay up—to expect not to come down again—so the only 'reasonable' option is to remain down forever, never getting up as to never fall back down. I want the emotional rollercoaster (no, I don't know how to get off—everyone else left the ride when puberty stopped, but I'm still here :P) to be flat, without extreme inclines or drop-offs.

The problem with this want is that once you're down so low, where else do you go but up? Everything's up from down here! That's why it takes so little to make me happy in this state: anything's better than nothing! Now, all it takes is a fucking short comic performance on YouTube or (as printed above) a cynical quotation from a strident social critic and I'm back to normal! Just another revolution on the closed emotional loop that is my life of exclusion :P
 
Speaking of my life in general, the theory seems to hold on a larger scale too: for the past 4 years (save the six months where I was in a relationship), I've been content simply wanting to go out with a particular girl; the mere interest is enough to hold me over emotionally. Even as late as last October, as soon as a particular girl became a realistic focus for me, I woke up every day with a smile on my face: I had reason to live! I had something to look forward to without fail: a conversation, or even seeing her, or even thinking about her made me happy, just as it did with all the other girls I'd previously liked! Just knowing there was the possibility of a relationship was enough to keep me out of the blues; even after I'd been in a relationship, hence hypothetically needing more than just the 'possibility' to hold me over, it only took mere thought to satisfy me. This, combined with the fear of rejection also mentioned in the previous entry (which itself is fuelled by feelings of worthlessness—hooray for more circles! :P) gives me no good reason to actually ask the girl I like out—why ruin a perfectly good fantasy? Why fuck up the status quo when you can stay happy without potentially making the woman's life worse? This is clearly the more thoughtful, considerate option :P

I am recognising, however, that thoughts are becoming darker. I've always wondered if I've legitimately considered suicide before—I've joked about it a lot, but I don't think I've ever truly wanted to off myself. Having said that, the thought has gone through my head, more regarding how people would react if I did such a thing. Visions of my work being published posthumously are contrasted with images of people hearing about my death and simply not giving a fuck. I often picture myself saying 'You know, if I got hit by a truck, I can count the people who'd give a fuck on my own two hands'—this is certainly not true today, as there are way more than ten people who'd care if I died (surely my family isn't that heartless :P), but this future of absolute isolation seemingly makes such a statement frighteningly possible. In these troubled times, I've also often pondered closing my Facebook account, leaving my phone off, never opening MSN and not seeing my friends at uni—basically committing 'social suicide'—but I never go through with that. So long as the number of people negatively affected by my would-be suicide remains a positive integer, it will not be so.

I don't feel like I can talk to my friends about anything anymore, hence my coming here to vent. I used to be able to talk to one or two friends about things like this, but I feel that those people have done more than their fair share of work, and I'd feel rude talking to anyone else because I feel as though people have better shit to do than take any part in sorting my problems out :P  A counsellor won't help either—the only reason I got better when seeing a counsellor last year was because as soon as I started seeing the counsellor, I developed feelings for someone. Correlation like that appears to imply causation, but sometimes, it simply ain't so :P  That's exactly what I begin to think happiness is in those dark moments: nothing more than an illusion of a worry-free life, where hope is just a façade to keep me numb to what life really is. That's not true, though: my happiness is just as genuine as my sadness; and, unsurprisingly, when I'm finally happy after being depressed for a while, I say to myself  'You know what? This is so much better than being mopey! I wanna stay like this!'... then I do nothing to maintain myself and the loop of bi-polarity continues.

Q.E.D

Interest: Plummeting Faster than The Stock Market

What happened here? Suddenly, everybody needs to be motivated? 

It's a fairly simple thing: either you wanna do something or you don't.

George Carlin

Looks like I'm part of the latter group: even though I live a life of fiscal, recreational and organisational ease and luxury, it's harder than ever for me to bring myself out of bed, even if I have somewhere to be. I missed a whole day's worth of classes simply because I got up too late and couldn't be bothered going anywhere, the twenty minute walk being just too much for me to handle—first world's a bitch like that :P  It's ridiculous how one negative thought can manifest into ten or fifteen which then combine like the Power Rangers, using their incredible force to obliterate the evil that is my hopes and dreams :P  I used to actually have hopes and dreams… there aren't many left. Everyone around me seems to have concrete goals, or at least goals they can plan for and progress towards in a measurable manner. What are my goals? …don't be miserable… that's the only one I can say for sure. There's heaps of other stuff I'd like to do—that I'd love to do—but that for me doesn't automatically constitute a 'goal'. I've always been told a goal is supposed to be achievable, and that's the definition I take; once I deem such a thing unachievable, it stops being a goal and becomes a pipe dream. So I have lots of pipe dreams… meaning my life's going down the wrong tube.

The most prevalent dream, by law, must always be to do with a girl: whether it be in the traditional sense of 'I have a dream', or the contemporary sense of 'I had a dream last night', it's always a woman. University is a smorgasbord; and with classes as long as two hours, there's always time to ogle at the one I choose to in silence as she looks at her notes or the tutor. It's almost too easy—she sits on the other side of the room, for fuck's sake! Such pleasure in hypothetical futures quickly dissipates, however, when my brain deems this to be an illogical desire, at least when my personality and habitual flaws are brought to light. Any rational person clearly understands that there is no justification in chasing something this unlikely—surely, no woman would want to go out with anyone who looks, talks, eats or thinks like me. I'm ugly, picky, whiny and disgusting: what a catch :P  But, what am I supposed to do? Not look? Not want? Not dream? As much as I'd like to stop dreaming, it's not possible! I'm heterosexual: I'm going to like women whether I want to or not. Being the paradoxical little fuck it is, reason also states that this shit simply isn't reasonable: neither love, nor lust, nor attraction is controllable like that. I want it to be, but it isn't. That's what's really illogical: to expect me to ditch desires inherent in my nature as a human being.

I've had heaps of dreams lately (the kind you have at night fast asleep, even though I'm usually half awake when doing so; kind of like a daydream at night time) that portray me being close with a woman, beyond mere sexual contact. Images of all sorts fill me with warmth, such as me with my arms wrapped around her in bed; or cuddling her with my back against a wall; at a café together, her laughing as we converse; or at a dance of some form where her head rests on my upper chest (the dictionary doesn't really give me the impression that I have a 'bosom' for her head to be resting on :P), my hand slowly stroking the back of her head, fingers flowing through her hair, her eyes closed, using me as her pillow so to speak. The problem is, having not seen the particular girl I'm attracted to for about a month now (due to the break, classes being cancelled/missed, etc.), and only really scratching the surface on said attraction anyway, she's fading from memory; this leads to my brain going back and picking anyone it can to fill the gap. In this state, this limbo of allure, the woman's identity is far from static—sometimes it's an old face, sometimes a new face—but the actions remain fairly consistent.

I think it's clear, from what I infer, that I want a fulfilling relationship, something beyond what I've already had; but my self esteem puts me beneath all that, leading me to believe I cannot possibly achieve that for there is no woman on this Earth willing to put herself in the complimentary position, a position so many seem to have temporarily filled in my mind. Until I know more about the university girl's personality, she will not become a true fixation. To give you an idea of how little I'm running off here, I actually got kind of excited when I heard the word 'Magikarp' come out of her mouth—all because this might mean she likes Pokémon, which means she might like video games, which means we might have something in common beyond our subjects. Slim pickin's, huh—not to mention what a perfect image that is: I practically am Magikarp, splashin' around in a puddle and expecting it to do something other than make a noise :P  In a way, I like this mindset, at least in that it tells me that I want to go off what's on the inside rather than what's on the outside when it comes to true desire for a woman, but it also leaves me with this wayward romantic desire that won't go away.

I really do have to go out and meet people :P

Second to that, of course, come intellectual pursuits: a 'career' (a job'll do just fine, thank you :P) and the development of my mind in terms of culture and booksmarts. Every time I watch a comedy festival, or see some comic on stage in front of a big crowd, and seeing the reaction they get from what they do, I want to be just like them. I want to go in front of rooms full of people and speak my mind like I do here to make people think and to make myself feel like I'm worth something :P  Ever since I experienced the incredible minds of Carlin, Bruce, Hicks (just to name a few), I've wanted to challenge my own mind and that of others on stage just as they did; but once again, cracks in the path quickly form.

First is my great fear of food and travel: two things any performer on the road kinda needs to be fine with :P  Travelling in a car or a train isn't so bad—that I could deal with easy—but boats and planes fuck with me. I get seasick really, really easy; but even if I didn't, the plane is what will take me to different countries (this is 2012 for fuck's sake—why am I going on about boats in the first place :P). When it comes to air travel, both my fear of dying in a plane crash (quite a few of which I've read about recently—thanks, Wikipedia :P) and my discomfort with food (do they serve Doritos on aeroplanes?) both trample the dream. I know that unless I'm in the middle of nowhere in a non-Western nation, there will be a store that sells some bag or box of processed nourishment to keep me somewhat alive... or do I? Surely, if I did know that, I wouldn't be so scared... the level of quality in what my mind classifies as 'knowledge' has done nothing but skyrocketed lately (especially since taking Philosophy :P). Thankfully, I know that I can always think and write no matter where I am, so I take some comfort that I can still get my ideas out there, if only in written form.

The other problem for me has been coming up more and more, not only in watching other comics, but in attending university as well: everything's been said. Every fucking thing, goddamnit! It seems like everyday, I lose an original idea; I might have thought of the idea on my own, but someone else presented it before I did; so even though my idea was of my own conclusions, an audience won't see it that way. What is there to make fun of that hasn't been made fun of? What ground is there that people haven't explored already? What conventions could I challenge? Does anything offend anyone anymore? Does discomfort exist anymore? Or will everyone be perfectly OK with whatever comes out of my mouth? I've said controversial shit before, yeah, but the 'PG-tolerant' world of high school (in what they'd allow anyone to put on stage publicly, anyway) is gone: that was what made stuff I said to those people back then 'controversial' in any sense of the word. I could joke about anything to a pack of uni students and get into no trouble whatsoever, and in recently watching the 2011 Montreal Comedy Festival on TV, politics and social issues were certainly on the agenda (although in a nature far less confronting than that of Carlin, Hicks, etc. :P). I don't want to just say outlandish shit for the sake of attention; I want to provoke thought through the verbal comic instilment of discomfort in what we accept in society. It's not just a matter of saying 'fuck' anymore; it's a matter of stating why we're fucked, how we got fucked, and (perhaps) what we need to do to stop being fucked.

I suppose if I really wanted a challenge, I could always learn Arabic, go to Saudi Arabia to perform, and open with 'Man, what's the deal with fundamentalist Islam? Jeez, it'd be easier for a dog to get a driver's license over here than a woman, 'ey!'

If I truly want to start dabbling in comedy, there's a bar at the uni (named 'The UniBar'... sigh :P) that I could apply to perform at. Looking at their website, there's no 'comedy night' or 'resident comedian' or anything of the sort, so perhaps this'd be something new for them... which is exactly what I fucking want, isn't it? ...why haven't I applied yet... :P  This little opening keeps my comedy dreams alive, and it has done for over a year. I actually originally wanted to go there every week and perform, talking about whatever came to my mind, sometimes testing new bits, sometimes going on improvised rants (a la Williams, Noble or Izzard) about current events and whatnot. I'd love to be someone who could get on stage with nothing in terms of a script and then go on to perform an hour long show, but that takes practice (a lot of practice :P), and I'm just happy to get on stage and perform whenever I can, so it's good to have a place I can do that. My dreams of women, on the other hand, while prevalent, are taken to be ridiculous in nature, because there's nothing concrete there. There's just one girl I have my eye on (out of how many? Selective much? O.O) that I know nothing about—what can my mind do with that? Nothing productive, that's for sure :P

What's really mind boggling, however, is not that I'm thinking this way at the moment, but that I'm still thinking this way after doing so for a year. I wrote an article about a year back describing my self-esteem as a pendulum, swinging back and forth, where thinking of a woman seemed to bring the pendulum down and thinking of comedy (and a somewhat-certain girl interest) brought it back up: this is the exact same thing. The exact same thing. Verbatim. Identical. Different in no way, shape or form! ...how am I still back here!? Surely, I should have learned about this last time and moved on! But no, it's the same old shit, day after day, week after week: the wheels on the bus go round and round, but the bus is still bogged in snow, the same snow it has been for a very long time. Without action, there can be no progress, short of a burst of incredible luck, unreliable at best.

The fact of the matter is: I'm not willing to take risks anymore. I don't want to talk to this girl for fear of embarrassment and rejection; I don't want to ask anyone to let me perform comedy for fear of social contact and disturbing the status quo (in terms of scheduling: you have no idea how much I hate interrupting people—I don't even make phone calls on that basis :P); I don't want to drive a car for fear of a collision; I don't want to drink or consume any party drug for fear of loss of self awareness and control, possible arrest and almost certain bodily harm. I'm simply no longer in favour of putting myself in any position where there's anything substantial to lose anymore... compared to, say, when I was sixteen, telling a room of twenty people the name of the girl I'd liked for two years, or waiting outside the classroom she was in to ask her out; or pulling another girl aside months later to do the same thing, this time successfully, or perhaps kissing her without warning at the lighthouse; or getting on stage alone to tell jokes for the first time; or getting up on assembly without permission to bitch about the fence... what happened? Did the prescription on my balls run out? I mean, I loved the rush I got from doing all those things even though I didn't always get the outcome I wanted, yet I seem to have retracted further into my little shell, unwilling to chase that which I appear to revel in!

It seems that those are my two options: either stay spinning in this little emotional circle, within my shell, waiting for Lady Luck to see me in my self-indulgent peril, for her to be fooled into granting me everything I want; or actually make my own moves, knowing I'm going to fall down, but also knowing that I can get back up. It sounds fucking retarded and cheesy—believe me, I know :P—but that's the way it is. I'm not sure if and when my balls will regrow, but I do believe, rather strongly, that if there's something in my life that I truly want, whether it be to know if some girl is interested in me, or to try and can pull off comic shenanigans like those of my idols—if I truly want something—I'll persevere and go for it eventually. The aforementioned evidence is what leads me to believe this, as procrastinative as it may seem; that's where my faith lies. That said, however... I've almost certainly got shit to do :P

You know what they could do, though? How about reporting on some plane landings, huh? Plane landings: you know, what's supposed to happen when a plane gets to the airport! I think we might think of pilots as a bit more competent if we were actually told that they can do their jobs correctly every once in a while, don't you!?

Mistakes: You're Reading about Some

NB: This is a very long entry, but I want to get everything off my chest and out of the way in one hit. These issues are all related, the end of one marking the beginning of the next. If you do choose to read, however, read everything—every topic, every paragraph, every word—otherwise, you will not be in any position to properly analyse what has been written.

Also, I will not be making the subject of this writing aware of this entry's existence. I do not know the extent to which she is aware of the content, nor do I have means of direct contact anyhow. If she does know of (and has read) what was written about her, hopefully she'll find this; if she doesn't know, I'd rather keep her blissfully ignorant. In either case, let me make this perfectly clear: it is your responsibility to spread, or not spread, this information around, and this decision should be based on whether or not you know if the subject knows about what's written below. If she catches wind of this due to your mismanagement of the information, that is your fault, not mine. If (and only if!) directed to this, contrary to what's written above, it is only important that she reads the final paragraph; as for the rest, it's up to her.

Picture this: you’re going on a week-long trip with nine other people.

One of these people was your crush, up until a few weeks ago.

Another is your ex-girlfriend; her new boyfriend will be there, too.

Does that sound like it’s going to be fun?

Me, introducing my vacation blog entries.

Now, let us take a different perspective: suppose you're going on the same week-long trip with nine other people. One of them had a crush on you until little less than a month ago; you knew all along, but after having conversations with him, thought you could just be good friends. Meeting with him and the others at the trip, you didn't sense anything to be amiss between you, so you felt no need to be any different to your usual self. You had your own shit going on in your own life, but you didn't let it get in the way of the trip. Three weeks after you get back, you're reading a blog entry by that same guy vividly describing how he sexually fantasised about you and wanted to fuck you.

Or, suppose your Year 12 Formal is coming up. You've got your clothes picked out, your lifts organised, and you're ready for a fun evening. Not long before the Formal, you hear about how some guy who had a crush on you years ago is after you again. You spend the entire evening dreading his unwanted arrival at your feet to talk to you, and after nothing really seems to happen, you end up reading about how he wanted to fuck you as well.

Doesn't sound like much fun either, does it :P

Not long after the trial HSC finished, I posted the first entry that seriously discussed my sexuality. Ten more concerning similar subject matter were posted subsequently; one was about my Year 12 Formal and after-party, and the other nine were about the aforementioned trip away, held after exams were finished. For me, people's discovery of these articles marked the end of a tirade of insanity and the beginning of a whirlpool of depression and guilt. Some consequences are still in question; this entry assumes the worst :P

I feel it important to attempt to rectify the situation. Over the two months that were practically taken over with thought regarding all the things discussed below, I have attempted to express my views verbally many, many times, only to crumble under the pressure, call myself a cunt, curl up on my bed and fall asleep, anxious to forget it all. This may have complimented some subconscious desire to wake up with all this bullshit having been just a horrible, horrible dream. Reality, however, begs to differ.

I also wish to highlight the fact that while I do take these matters seriously, I know that life goes on and that this is not the end of the world—many a motherfucker can't recognise hyperbole when they see it :P  To speak too lightly of the situation is to appear careless through inherent apathy; to speak too strongly is to appear untruthful through apparent façade. I want to express what's written here both to show my intent in resolving the situation and to get it out of the way so I can think about other things. I've felt like shit about this for far too long, and to what extent my guilt is deserved depends on the actual consequences of my actions.

I will be quoting myself from a number of aforementioned blog entries; these were unpublished upon the realisation of their nature towards the individuals mentioned within. I will only quote from these sources when absolutely necessary, but please note that these quotations are real and truthful in nature, not manifested nor manipulated in such a way as to distort the reality they deliver. The target audience has been forced to study literary analysis for six years; if you can deconstruct Shakespearean theatre, what fucking chance do I stand :P

In regards to quoting from the blog, most people didn't seem to read the thing at the top that says "Do you think too much? I do." Most of what's published here, especially evident in the quoted entries, is blown out of proportion intentionally, whether it be for comic effect or to highlight an underlying mood or feeling. Much of it was recognised to be fucked up when I published it, and its publication was highlighting this. I know I over think things; those things can be explored here in the ridiculous setting they call home.

We'll start with the events preceding the Formal and after-party, as this is where things began to go wrong. Wind the clock back to the start of the second semester: late July, the first week of Term Three. Returning from school holidays, I quickly began to experience severe depression. I had lost contact with a girl I'd had feelings for spanning a few months, and had nothing to look forward to other than exams. I was not going to the Formal at this point, nor the after-party, and I was quick to affirm this position to anyone who asked whether I was going. Having no girl to set my sights on (which, before losing contact, really did boost my mood a great deal), I grew more and more frustrated having to see my ex-girlfriend when I was hanging around with my friends, and decided to leave my friend group all together, seeking solace in the library for the next ten weeks' worth of recesses and lunches. Lest the library was closed, that's where I was, without fail. A friend of mine had made a similar move earlier in the year, so we hung out together in the library quite a lot. We became comfortable talking about pretty much anything, and I discussed quite a few issues I was going through with her.

My depression is by no means an excuse for anything I've done, but being depressed certainly doesn't leave you in any state where you can trust your mind to make good decisions :P  I'm not fucking with you, either; seeing as I went to a therapist several times (to discuss my discomfort around my ex, and unrelated family issues), I'm pretty sure I'm not making this up for the sake of sympathy :P

In the midst of exams and solitude, the looming deadline for Formal payment came to light. I had enough money to pay, but silently pondered the consequences of attendance to, and absence from, this event. I did not originally want to go to the Year 10 Formal, but upon going, I enjoyed it far more than I thought I would. Yes, some of this stemmed from the fact that I'd liked a girl (henceforth referred to as 'Sally') for two years at that point, and seeing her in that environ pushed me to actually speak to her (something I wouldn't otherwise have done); but, even if you remove that element from the situation entirely, I still enjoyed myself. Returning to the present, I was left with two options: I was either to attend and enjoy myself, or stay at home and wonder how much enjoyment I was missing out on. My mind changed on this basis, and I arranged to go.

It was around this time that I began to write material for what would become that stand-up show I performed just before the Formal. Seeing as I had so much time on my hands (and was in no mood to study :P), I wrote enough to span fifty minutes of stage time; ten of these went specifically to speaking about Sally and what happened leading up to me asking her out. It was initially nothing more than just a ridiculous story I could tell to get some laughs; its exploration in writing, however, meant that Sally was on my mind. Sally, coming into the library more frequently to study as exams encroached on the cohort, was there to be seen. I looked at her more and more, only to see what was right in front of me, and nothing more. This marked the beginning of objectification I remained oblivious to until I was informed by someone else.

It turned from simple physical attraction to regular coveting which started little more than a month before the Formal. Although she wasn't identified at the time, it later became clear the following blog extract was written in 'regards' to her:

I've recently been fantasising about this one girl who is absolutely, drop dead gorgeous; the perfect mix of beauty and sex appeal. Every trait that gets me going lies in this one girl; and although she might keep to herself in the real world, her imaginary counterpart is quite the vixen :P  ...The coitus itself is different every time, but it's passionate and seductive; slow and meaningful. Hands and arms go everywhere; legs wrap themselves around anything they can find. She moans my name, I moan hers, and then I return to reality... stupid fucking reality >.<

'Fantasy: Why Is My Imagination Hanging Out with My Crotch?', published 20/08/2011

At this point, the fantasising is regular enough that I can, in explicit detail, describe exactly what I want to do with her (said explicit detail described what I imagined would lead up to the sex itself). It's also evident that I'm aware that this is nothing more than a dream, and an unrealistic one of that; "as if she's ever going to want me" couldn't be more spot on, in terms of both its truth and my understanding of it at the time. This is also evident when I refer to the fantasy girl as Sally's "imaginary counterpart"—I knew she was nothing like this in real life, and admitted the falsity right up-front. This, however, faded from thought as coveting continued.

Also notice the last few lines: I'm using words like "passionate", "meaningful", etc. Believe me, the fantasies felt very passionate and meaningful, because the Sally I'd pictured in my head was basically in love with me, as was I with her. This became the focus more and more down the track as I discovered that I didn't just want sex; what I really wanted was to be in a relationship at the time of the Formal and to do all the things a couple does, finally culminating in physical intimacy. What I truly wanted was a date—more specifically, a foxy date willing to put out :P  Upon realising this, the fantasy developed beyond mere sexual attraction; it became a complete vision of exactly what I wanted the entire event to be like, and the idea of losing my virginity was just the icing on the cake. Think of the Enchantment Under the Sea dance at the end of Back to the Future: everything turns out perfect.

It felt incredibly good to visualise this course of events, and it felt even better to pretend I could/would get a date to experience all this with—I even started wanting to ask Sally to go with me! We can all recognise, however, that this is beyond ridiculous: how could I seriously have thought that I could have walked up to Sally, asked her for a dance, danced with her for half an hour, developed a close, romantic connection between us in that time, and made love with her, when I've already asked her out and been rejected? ...the fuck kind of plan is that!? Setting the bar a little high, don't you think? It was a strong sense of hope and happiness I hadn't felt in a very long time, albeit being felt for the wrong reasons; and in the end, it was nothing more than a placebo masking a deep pain and loss.

Meanwhile, enter: 'Lisa', the other girl mentioned. She was initially just a girl I thought to be pretty, and I didn't really know much about her, nor did I really feel strongly enough about her to try to talk to her. This, combined with the fact that I'd left my friend group (where she usually hung out), saw feelings for her drift in the wind. If she entered the room, it'd be nice to see her, but even though I wanted to say 'hi', I didn't—the balls just weren't there, folks :P

We now arrive at our feature presentation: the Year 12 Formal and after-party. I wrote an entire blog entry on these two specific events and the lead up towards them.  There were two purposes for its publication: the first being to state my opinion of the event as a whole, expressing my feelings towards the subjects of alcohol, drug use, the party atmosphere, all that mumbo-jumbo; the second being the discussion of my desire that evening to lose my virginity with one of the two aforementioned girls. This goal became prominent over others as, having no true date, I went "well, I can at least try to get laid". The undealt-with build-up of lust, combined with my own desire to make progress in my sex life and actually get with somebody, convinced me that I was behind everyone else in terms of sex and that the after-party would be a good opportunity to catch up. Well, I was certainly behind, but only in my mentality :P

The afternoon of the day of the Formal, right before leaving the house, I had a very clear, concise plan of action for the evening ahead, described early on in the blog entry:

PLAN A: In a moment of her solitude, ask Sally if she would like to dance. If the answer is "yes", proceed from that point as necessary, progressing towards coitus. If rejected early enough in the night, move on to:

PLAN B: In a moment of her solitude, ask Lisa if she would like to dance. If the answer is "yes", proceed from that point as necessary, progressing towards coitus. If rejected at any stage, suck it up and hang around with your friends.

See what I mean when I say I think too much? :P  Remember that "progressing towards coitus" means that although coitus is the ultimate destination, it need not occur for fun to be had; and if they don't want sex, they won't get sex, end of story (considering what I look like, that's a big ask :P).

'Expectations: Ditch the Motherfuckers', published 24/09/2011

Militaristic, animalistic thought process going on here. To have a plan even this specific for a social event is fucking ridiculous; bringing the context behind Sally in reveals an all new level of insanity :P  To plan so far as trying to see where things could have gone with Lisa (just talking to her and going with the flow from then on) would have been perfectly fine—it was (and turned out to be) a good opportunity for that—but the reasoning behind it was corrupt. Wanting sex with a girl is perfectly fine and natural; thinking you can have sex with A: a girl you've already asked out and been rejected by, or B: a girl you hardly know or talk to who has no record of promiscuity, and then only socialising with them for that reason alone, is just a little retarded :P  Bear in mind: what's written in the quotation was intentionally exaggerated for comic effect. Those words were not the exact ones that went through my head the night before—they only served to represent the inanity of the thoughts themselves—but it still stands that I had an agenda.

Whilst I didn't walk into The Lagoon with a hard-on, women were on the brain: the first person I remember looking at was Sally.

Sally looked incredible: a beautiful silver dress with silver shoes, and pretty little things in her hair*.

'Expectations: Ditch the Motherfuckers'

* To be honest, looking back, I can't really say for sure whether there were things in her hair or not, because I never got that close to the back of her head :P  But, she had evidently done something with it, and I liked what I saw.

Now, remembering that this was written after the Formal and after-party (evidently when I was a little less horny :P), this was not what I thought when I got there; that went more along the lines of "oooohh goodie! She's here! :O and she's not with a guy! :D". I was relatively distracted from my intentions with all the photography and whatnot, for quite a while in fact. Not helping was a good friend of mine holding my ex in his arms. Any guy who's been there know how fucking hard it is to sit there and watch that. My lucky friend had exactly what I'd wanted: it only served to remind me of what I was missing out on.  Once again, it serves as no justification for anything I've done, but it does fuck with one's head. Ironically, Lisa was talking to me unprovoked every now and again—but, of course, at this point, was I giving much of a fuck about Lisa? :P

After dinner, planning circuitry was reactivated, leading to this:

Each look at Sally makes me more and more nauseous, and I eventually saw my moment: she was sitting at her table by herself. The problem is, because I've eaten, I'm really nauseous now, and I know if I go up and ask her to dance, I'll throw up on her face. "Bathroom now, Sally right after" I thought, as I went to get the sickness out of my system, hoping Sally would still be there when I got back. After feeling better, I went back to see Sally gone. She was back in that same position not much later, but I could not pull myself out of my seat to talk to her; I did not have it in me, and left her alone.

'Expectations: Ditch the Motherfuckers'

I'm evidently wanting to kick this off, but I'm already starting to have second thoughts on Sally. Even if I wasn't sick, I probably wouldn't have budged anyhow: she didn't exactly look to enthralled, even though I couldn't see her face. I mean, sitting alone with a drink? On your Formal night? While music's blasting away, and your friends are dancing or having photos taken? "Maybe she's on her phone or something... doesn't matter, I can wait :D". I went on to the dance floor twice after that to look for her, to no avail.

We now move on to the after-party. If I remember correctly (my memory shouldn't be this bad—I didn't drink a fucking thing after the Formal o.O) I told the friend driving me there about my desire for Sally. It was in no explicit detail, but I'm sure he was aware that I was interested in her in some way. Upon arriving there:

Sally arrived not long after, and she'd changed in to plain casual clothes... The look on her face was unusually sterile -- she didn't look like she was anticipating much, almost as though she'd been forced or coaxed in to attending -- but the main thing was: she was there."

 'Expectations: Ditch the Motherfuckers'

I'm still evidently keeping an eye on Sally, but my first sight of her at the after-party was anything but inviting. It began to form in my mind, albeit only slightly, that perhaps this isn't the Sally I wanted in the first place—only now am I beginning to realise that Sally's imaginary "vixen counterpart"... is imaginary :P  I kept a passive eye on her for hours: not actively seeking her, but certainly taking a look at what she was doing whenever I saw her; not once do I remember anything even resembling a smile. Granted, I'm not Sally's friend (I wonder why :P), but I'm not completely ignorant as to her personality and I don't remember her being an unhappy person. It didn't make sense, but I was trying to ignore it as best I could to try and keep my spirits up. I went to the Formal and after-party in anticipation, even when ignoring the sexual aspects—"why isn't she like that too?", I wondered. I even remember the guy who drove me there seeing her and saying (in that voice that isn't quite loud but is still audible from quite a distance :P) "hey, look! It's Sally!" I looked at her as he said it; she didn't even turn her head. I don't know whether she didn't hear it or was ignoring it, but I nevertheless remained optimistic: "Doesn't matter—she'll be happy soon enough, and that's when we'll strike :D".

My first even remotely good decision occurred here:

[Sally] came around to the camp-fire I was practically glued to trying to get warm, and she had no seat -- offering to go get her one myself, she said she was OK, and promptly left. I went walking and talking for a while myself, and upon returning to the camp-fire, I saw her with a seat (one that wasn't there before) talking to someone else -- this told me Plan A would not be occurring, so I moved on to the far more plausible (and, in the end, far more desirable) Plan B.

 'Expectations: Ditch the Motherfuckers'

Finally! Some common sense! We're moving on—how lovely :P  Lisa then became the focal point for me that evening. This was a good thing because I hadn't had much contact with her and there was more chance of anything fruitful happening here; but, it was also a bad thing (from my own moral standpoint) because of the motive—right thing, wrong reasons. Off I went to hang with Lisa. We talked more and more, chatting every now and again. She was usually first to speak, continuing the 'unprovoked' trend—unusual, but helpful nonetheless.

Sally, however, was not yet out of the picture. I might have lost interest, so to speak, but there was still once final event yet to occur that would further serve to fuck with my head. Skip to about 3 am: I've just been dancing with Lisa and a few others, for only a short while—the ten minutes of this ten hour event that I actually enjoyed have just run their course. I headed back to the campfire to warm myself once again:

Unfortunately, after such a high point, things were only going to get worse from there on in, and mood took a major dive as I returned to the camp-fire to see Sally still warming herself. I took the (only) spare seat next to her, and looked at her. She looked down... really down...

"Hello, Sally. How are you?"

"I'm alright... how are you?"

"I'm OK... ... ...you don't look like you're having very much fun."

"That's because I'm not."

 'Expectations: Ditch the Motherfuckers'

There it was, straight out of her own fucking mouth: she wasn't enjoying herself. She wasn't having the fun I imagined her having, in any way, shape, or form. What she was doing was sitting there, freezing cold, bored, and unhappy.

Even now, I can assert I spoke to Sally out of genuine concern for how she was:

This cut deep, deep in to my heart and soul -- not because Sally wasn't dancing in my arms, or putting her hand down my pants, but because I knew exactly how she was feeling: she felt like shit. It was pure, unadulterated empathy: I knew how bad I felt, and both the look on her face and words out of her mouth framed perfectly that feeling.

Expectations: Ditch the Motherfuckers

-and by this stage, I seem to have come to most of my senses (even though I lost 'em all again within a month or two :P). I asked Sally how she was because I wanted to know how she was; there was no ulterior motive. Some may call bullshit (even I did for a while, reading over this and comparing this part to all the dodgy stuff :P), but it isn't. Not even someone as socially disconnected as me is dumb enough to try and worm his way into a girl's pants when she's evidently hardly in the mood to even be spoken to :P

That morning, having had no sleep (because I failed to bring a sleeping bag or warm clothes, even when I knew this was going to be an overnight event held in a rural area :P), I woke up wanting nothing more than to go to sleep in an actual bed. Impatiently waiting for my lift to decide to go home, I looked over one last time at the tent area to see Sally and her friends sitting around. Still, there was no smile—she probably wanted to go home just as badly as I did.

Looking back on the Formal and after-party, it's almost frightening to combine all my observations of Sally's mood that evening:

Even if I wasn't sick, I probably wouldn't have budged anyhow—she didn't exactly look to enthralled, even though I couldn't see her face. I mean, sitting alone with a drink? On your Formal night? While music's blasting away, and your friends are dancing or having photos taken?

The look on her face was unusually sterile -- she didn't look like she was anticipating much, almost as though she'd been forced or coaxed in to attending...

Sally walked past a number of times, as if she was aimlessly walking around looking for someone to talk to or something to do, still with that blank expression on her face... this wasn't the Sally I'd fantasised about; she wasn't in to it, at all.

I looked at her as he [said her name out loud within earshot]; she didn't even turn her head.

She looked down... really down... 

"...you don't look like you're having very much fun." 

"That's because I'm not."

Noticing a trend? :P  I didn't see Sally happy once; not once. Sure, she was smiling in the photos, but everyone smiles in photos :P  Besides, even if she did enjoy the Formal initially, it could have been each instance of seeing me or being around me that made her unhappy.

Remember that friend I hung out in the library with? She knew about my desire for Sally. My desire to ask her out, dance with her, fuck her—all of it—was confided in her. I can trust her to keep a secret, but this was discussed out loud, vocally. People overhear things like this; and I know the guy who drove me to the after-party knew 'cause I fucking told him! For all I know, Sally knew before she even got to the Formal that I wanted to hook up with her, and was uncomfortable at the very thought that, at any moment, I could come up to her and start making advances which she'd have had to deal with on the spot.

For all I know, my expressed desire is the only reason why Sally did not enjoy herself on an evening that should have been much, much better for her.

Now, you might not agree, but for me, that's a pretty overbearing thought right there :P  No, the Formal and after-party are not necessarily life-changing, socially important, critical moments or events in the lives of most people—most motherfuckers are going to attend a thousand identical parties :P—but, it's still the last time you spend with a bunch of people you've grown to know and befriend over six years. I'm fairly sure the goal is to enjoy it, not sit around worrying about some guy listening to his dick a little too hard :P  It's not exactly a comforting thought when you realise that you may have single-handedly ruined someone's evening by doing little more than saying you wanted to ask them to the Formal, be their date, and lose your virginity with them. You don't have to do much thinking to come to the conclusion that this is, quite clearly, one fucked up situation :P  I can't fathom exactly how she might have found out about this, and it could have been any combination of issues bugging her at the time, but my lone responsibility is far from implausible. For every inch of doubt in the theory's truth, there's an inch of fear of its potential truth right beside it. 

As for the blog entries themselves (the fantastical one and the Formal/after-party one), both entries were published before I got Facebook—my blog was under the radar in every sense of the word. A week later, this was no longer true; a link to this blog sat at the bottom of my newly created Facebook profile. I know at least one person had read it by the start of the HSC as they told me they'd read it. According to the data, at least 47 other people have read the Formal/after-party post and at least 28 have read the fantastical post. I can't be sure if those figures count those who simply visited the root domain, where the Formal/after-party post sat at the top for quite some time, the fantastical post not far below it (not to mention linked within the former :P). This wasn't such an issue when the blog wasn't linked to on Facebook, but I decided to add that link to my profile, putting it there intentionally, all the while knowing what was there to be read. That was an unenlightened decision that out-derps almost all the derpy shit I've done in my eighteen years on this planet :P

"This happened ages ago—just drop it."

Getting all this off my chest and out of the way is how I'm dropping it. I have better shit to do than ponder over how much of a cunt I am for any longer than I already have :P 

"You already risked making Sally uncomfortable by publishing this shit before; why would you do that again?" 

The information's already out there—there's little danger in republishing information that's already been made available to those it posed a danger to in the first place, especially when they probably already know :P  I needed the quotations from the original text to make my point clear, no matter how grotesque or discomforting.

The issue here is not that I talked about my own sexuality, my own desires, or my own thoughts of any nature—I can do that to my heart's content, and if you don't like it, don't read it. Don't cry foul because you were offended at the top and stopped reading at the bottom; that's your fault, not mine :P  The issue here is the way in which these thoughts were discussed; the fact that I published said thoughts and desires with clear indication as to who they were in relation to, in clear view to those people and those who know them. It breached people's personal space, and might have made them feel just a little uneasy :P  Added to this, of course, is the possibility that Sally could have known some, or all, of this stuff before the Formal arrived, due to my failure to properly conceal my thoughts—that goes beyond making someone feel 'uneasy' :P

Lisa, mentioned in the vacation entries, was apologised to little more than a month before the publishing of this entry. Having her number, I opted to make a phone call, seeing more integrity in a verbal apology as opposed to a written one, but she opted to talk via Facebook. I have no such luxury with Sally whatsoever: I don't have her phone number anymore, nor her email; we aren't friends on Facebook; and, even if I did have access to such contact details, I can't even be sure if I'm correct in saying that she's aware of any of this to any particular extent. Apologising may only serve to bring it to her attention, which is somewhat counter-productive :P  I don't know what she knew about my intentions before the Formal, I don't know what she's read that pertains to those intentions, and I'll probably never really know if she's read through this wall of text or not.

In all honesty, if Sally needs to read anything, it's only what's written below.

Sally, I apologise for leaving published the entries in which you were discussed, and for publicly expressing intentions to try and get involved with you, sexually or otherwise. It wasn't right of me to risk letting you think the entire time that I'd try to make a move on you, even if it only slipped out in a passive manner; nor was it right to give people close to you direct access to these thoughts when they could very well have made their way to you. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable or unhappy, but I very may well have with my actions, and I'm sorry if this is the case.