Log in

No account? Create an account

Previous Entry | Next Entry

everyday i find an excuse to go out driving. i stay out past my bedtime and crank the choons with the windows down. i really wish i had the time/money for a road trip right now. i just want to go, go, go...

it's been a decade since i really started approaching guys on my own. (how i got so many of them in the decade before that escapes me.) but in all these years my approach to dating seems to have changed very little. i'm still a stalker at heart. it's a chance for me to scope things out before i put my cards on the table, an effort to avoid falling flat on my face and being forever known as a fool. but you'd really think by now i'd have some better mechanisms for dealing with my social anxiety, especially since i've never, ever in my life been shot down. maybe it's a sign of good reconnaissance on my part or maybe it's a testament to my inherent likability.

anyway, stalking boys has taking on new pleasure for me recently. now that i'm completely certain there's no hope of anything working out with anyone ever, it's less about laying the groundwork for a future and more about making the most of the present.

it's painfully difficult to overcome my introversion through the watchful eyes of another person, but, at the same time, it's incredibly rewarding to let loose (and to get what i want).

i guess i've just been experiencing a deep sense of freedom lately. it's amazing. i've extricated myself from a relationship i was guilted into and i feel, not remorse or regret, but a great and liberating joy. i bought the car i wanted despite ridiculous objections from my "friends," and i couldn't be more satisfied with my purchase decision. i'm back in school doing incredibly well and i'm actually getting excited about both learning and teaching again.

sure, it's probably mania. and, even if it isn't, any good thing sure would seem great after that hellascious depression, which i narrowly escaped. so, i'm trying to keep that in perspective and not get too carried away.

i feel really good though, all-around. and i wanted to share that.

as for the art project... production has halted for the moment. i was all ready to mail out the finished pieces today, but i felt really sad that i wouldn't get to share them with everyone here. maybe i can scan them at school tomorrow... i don't know what i'll do if i can't. (i think) they're too good to be appreciated by just one person (or, unfortunately, not even that one person). i mean, they're nothing profound; they're just collages with that swelltm touch. fuck. i guess these were supposed to be surprises or something.

i fucking hate surprises. even when i know what they are, the suspense kills me.


Jul. 13th, 2005 09:50 pm (UTC)
i can't put a name to this anonymous writing style. i'm piecing together clues, but coming up short. i can't invite you on an adventure if i don't know who you are!

i wouldn't stay my stalking is really all that positvely productive. it's more of a means of self-seduction, encouraging my interest and curiosity in a person. i can't recall ever stalking someone and not getting involved at all, but i don't doubt that i do often redirect my efforts (and signals) into more precisely defined relationships with people if i find certain aspects of them to be contradictory to what i'm looking for in a friend/boydfriend/lover.

truth be told, i've walked in eyes-open to many mistakes, though. it's just fun to be passionate about soemone for a while, i think, even if you know it's not going to last.
Jul. 14th, 2005 03:50 am (UTC)
stalking is an excellent opportunity for me to figure out what aspects of my personality to accentuate or downplay in order to best fit in with new people. it's not that i try to be soemone different, but i've learned that there are definietly things you can do around your hometown buddies with out thinking that can totally offend new pals who haven't learned to appreciate all your intricate subtleties yet.

Latest Month

February 2012


Page Summary

Powered by LiveJournal.com