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:
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.
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.
* 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:
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:
My first even remotely good decision occurred here:
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:
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:
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'
Even now, I can assert I spoke to Sally out of genuine concern for how she was:
-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:
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.
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.
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