Once more into the breach...

I don't think that I could be considered as being overly discrete here. As my first new blog on this site I'll point out that I'm maintaining some anonymity, overtly anyway. To that that end I won't list names but they are available on request, if your interest in my life is pronounced enough. I jump from first to third person and some narrative too and decide to hyphenate "gay-assed".

What the holy fuck?

I'd like to think of myself as slow and considered. I'm not though, I just fucking procrastinate. I hang around and let things get all fucking bunched up in my head. I beat the ever loving shit out of myself, have some fucking Orange Creek, Dawson's County moment and then hit a fucking reset button to get back to the stage I was at 6 to 8 weeks previously.

That stage is called alone with no obvious prospects.

Step 1. Meet a girl.

Step 2. Reserve final judgement, but initial intuition is positive.

Step 3. Wait for far too fucking long, all the while sharing experiences and building up a rapport.

Step 4. Wake up some godforsaken day and decide that you should ask her out.

Step 5. SHOT DOWN

Step 6. Write an irritating blog as some sort of gay-assed “closure” bullshit.

I sit and contemplate the whole dichotomy of the friend/lover thing and whether it actually exists. Greater minds and louder mouths have put forward both sides and I have deferred to their expert judgement. Should I just barge in cock out, bawdy joke on my lips and grab asses? Is that what women are secretly into?

Then I watch and see her/them ('cos this isn't fucking isolated and my vengeance will be universal) go off with some cretin. A fucking halfwit. He doesn't know or care how much better than him I am. And this ignorance, this lack of the vanity to analyse yourself and those around you is the only way he beats me. That's my flaw!

After Step 6 where do we go? Well even in the getting shot down stage the Elephant has quietly entered the room and is mixing himself a drink before he takes up a commanding position by the window. His sheer bulk blocks the light and leaves us in darkness. Is she so intent on ignoring the polite elephant that she can't hear the tones of defeat? Maybe.

Is this justification for flying into a rage? No. Fuck it, you're a pussy. You wouldn't know what flying into a rage looked like.

So now, now that I know, I'll keep my mouth shut. Things will fade. Everything fades. In a while I'll find someone new and I can do this all again.