Image: I Have Lots of Problems Too. I'm Just Like You... Except I'm Not.

Not too long ago, I realised I'd answered a question of mine, a question I'd asked myself ages ago. How ever long ago it was, I looked at all the things that I don't like about myself, the things that are 'wrong' with me—the way I eat, my difficulty in dealing with social situations and change in life, my discomfort around trying new things, the list goes on—and I wondered if there was a central issue surrounding it all. I thought "well, if there's a central problem inherent in all these smaller issues, then I only have one problem to solve, and it'll be my first step to making my life a whole lot better". Oblivious to my discovery, I summed it up in an earlier entry with these words:

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.

So, the central issue appears to be fear of a negative outcome. Problem is, I've conquered the problem before, and several occasions on which I did so follow that quotation. I used to be able to deal with that problem; the issue now is that I don't have the self-respect or self-worth to justify doing such things.

Speaking of recent discoveries, I found out a day or two ago that a friend of mine made her blog public again. Turns out she's been reading mine, and she wrote a few entries on topics I spoke about. Some might be pissed off were their friends to read their blogs, but I'm actually quite happy she's reading it. Obviously, I'm pleased someone's reading it at all, that's nice on its own; but it's also good to know that there's someone out there, incidentally someone I know, who I can kinda talk to about things without actually talking to them. One might think "why not just fucking talk to her about the stuff directly?"... I dunno. I feel uncomfortable talking to anyone about these issues because I always feel like I'm being a nuisance. At the same time, if someone needed to talk to me about something, I'd try to help them, and in reality, my friends would do the same for me, so thinking I'd irritate others if I did so is a little ridiculous :P  Even with that said, however, I still don't like to do it, so I keep to myself.

Anyway, this friend is currently trying to lose some weight. That's all well and good, and she seems to be managing it quite well (from what little I've read, anyway), but she keeps calling herself 'fat' and describing her body as if it's some kind of blob with a head on top. I don't see that. I will admit, there's meat on her bones, but I thought that was fucking normal :P  I just cannot see a problem with her size or her figure. Granted, this is coming from the same person who was attracted to her seven months ago, but even though all that sexual tension is gone, that doesn't change my opinion. Thankfully, she realises that the negativity is simply a state of mind, and she tries to counter this mindset.

Thing is, there are heaps of things I could say about myself that would paint an equally negative picture. Friend of mine thinks she's ugly? Bullshit; I'm ugly. Face is alright, but my teeth are all out of whack (sucked my thumb as a kid, hated wearing the corrective gear to fix the problem :P). My hands and wrists remind me of Mr. Burns; I have no muscle whatsoever; and my legs are like those you'd find on starving African children. That's all due to my diet, which is abhorrent and will probably lead to my death at 30-something. I don't have the determination to change that, nor even the will to try any new food. That begs the question: why bother asking a woman on a date? I'm going to eventually have to make it clear that I don't eat like everyone else, which will probably be a huge turn off. There goes any hope of dinner at a restaurant, lunch with friends for introductions, dinner with the parents: that's all instantaneously fucked as soon as the declaration is made. That, coupled with the shallow exterior and opinionated interior, makes for a shitty boyfriend :P

This is all assuming, of course, that I'd ever have the guts to talk to a woman, but why do that when rejection is more-or-less guaranteed not far down the road, if not on the spot? Where am I even going to meet one? I have no social life whatsoever. All the friends I have are from my old school, and I'm hardly ever in contact with them. I really only ever start chatting to two of my friends; a few others occasionally say 'Hi', but it's mainly the same two people, and it's not all that often. I have nothing interesting to talk about, so why bother? I never go anywhere either—no parties, no outings, nothing other than the occasional movie. Where else is there to go, anyway? I don't drink, so why go out to clubs and bars? I'd be wasting my fucking time, not to mention putting me in that atmosphere is the quickest way to make me bored and uncomfortable. Most times I've been with people who are drinking, it ends up sucking major balls. Unfortunately, that's where you meet people these days, so no progress can be made on any front.

It all comes down to perspective: my friend sometimes thinks she's fat, and this can lead her to believe she is viewed as unattractive. I've never believed she's fat, but her self-image is a lot closer to her than my image of her, as would be the case for most people. Likewise, my other friend tried to imply that I wasn't the arsehole I was making myself out to be. I disagreed because I felt more strongly about what I'd done then he did. It's like we don't want to get our hopes up for something that won't happen, at least when we're in this state. This has been getting worse for me, though. I've spent a few mornings lately lying in bed practically bashing myself up in my own head, thinking about this stuff and basically not seeing the point in even getting up. Once I make all the inferences from the data, there ceases to be a point in doing anything, so why get out of bed?

I wish I could just ditch all social desires, friendwise, romance wise, all of it. It's only when I think of those things that I look at myself this way. When I'm preoccupied doing something else, this shit almost never happens. When I'm writing a monologue, a script, a poem, or a story, or when I'm working on a bigger video project, or playing a game, or watching YouTube, I'm focused on everything else. I don't think about other people, only myself. It's indulgent and selfish but it fucking works. All I get then are challenges and ideas: things to beat and ways to beat them. Good ol' problem solving FTW :P

There are heaps of things I seriously want to do, but don't, and even when merely thinking about doing them, it's better than thinking of my social life. I wanna get on stage every week at uni and rant about whatever comes to my mind. I wanna join an improv troupe somewhere and learn how to think on my feet a little better. I wanna write satirical articles for some newspaper and get under people's skin. I wanna take my Nintendo 64 to the mall and play Mario Kart and Super Smash Bros. with complete strangers. I wanna wear a Klu Klux Klan outfit in public and hold up a sign that says "FREE HUGS (COLOUR DOESN'T MATTER)" on one side, and "NEW KKK: MORE ROBES, LESS RACISM!" on the other; then, when I get arrested, I can ask why I'm being judged on what I'm wearing rather than what I'm doing. I wanna go into a high school pretending to be a Department of Education representative to tell the kids on their assembly that school uniform is a psychological control mechanism. I wanna learn martial arts from Jackie Chan, then crash through the roof of Parliament House and beat the shit out of everyone in that motherfucker. I wanna go to an anti-LGBT rally and hold up a sign saying "HOMOPHOBES ARE THE REAL FAGGOTS". I wanna intercept the O'Reilly Factor broadcast on Fox and play 'Wake Up' by Rage Against the Machine instead. I wanna break into a bank and modify the code in the system such that all the bank fees and loan interest go straight to charity (and a little to my own account, for my services :D).

All those things I can do without worrying about friends or food (except the Jackie Chan one... that one's a little outta reach :P).

Most of all, though, I want to be with someone, and love someone. I don't know why, but the urge is always there, and it grows every day. I feel like I've devolved, like I'm back to being a 16 year old boy, simply wondering what it's like to be with someone, how it feels; I just don't know anymore. That's half the fucking problem: I've been there. I've actually been there. I don't just want it; I want it back. I want to explore another relationship. I want to feel for someone so strongly that I can't hold my feelings back anymore. I wanna hold her hands and get lost in her eyes as she looks down in shyness and giggles. I wanna know what it's like to wait for a text I'm expecting from her. I wanna have that one in-joke that only we understand. I wanna watch TV with her and berate whatever shit they've put on. I want her to run up to me from behind and cuddle me, the warmth from her body filling my own. I wanna walk home with her in the rain. I wanna make her feel better when she cries. I wanna have arguments with her just so we can come out stronger and hug tightly when we make up. I wanna see her close her eyes in ecstasy as I feel her up under her shirt. I wanna kiss her all over her naked body before she pushes me onto the bed and steals my idea. I wanna make love with her at her old high school... during school hours, for that extra thrill :P  I wanna be told what turns her on so she can lure me into her fantasy.

I wanna feel so much for her that I can't help but tell her I love her.

That desire always comes back; it never goes away. Problem is, shit that perfect is, like, unattainable, especially with all my flaws :P  It's awesome to write about and fantasise about, sure, but is it gonna actually happen? The image isn't quite that strong :P

I still feel like that little 16 year old boy, but now I'm in the adult's world. I still have that teen angst, I still have that teen curiosity; I even look the fucking part :P  That's even why I don't perform comedy at uni: are a bunch of young adults gonna take some fresh-outta-high-school fucknugget like me seriously? Are they gonna think I can actually humour them? That sounds intimidating. I mean, I've performed in front of adult audiences, and I've performed once in a really adult environment (which was the most fucking fun ever :P), but there's an eerie 'you don't belong there' vibe I get, being the presumptuous cunt I am.

I don't know if a woman will really ever see anything in me, nor do I really think I can do much to make one happy. I don't even really know what love is or what it feels like, not in the romantic sense—I haven't experienced it enough to get any strong grasp. I assume I'll know when I feel it, but I don't know. All I really know is that, with all that's been said and all the conflicting emotion, I still want to find someone I can be with.

Even if it's only for a little while.

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!?