A Long-Winded Dialogue with Myself. Wisdom by Devlin.

After large amounts of indecision, tonight became "Buy a Cheesy Porn Night" again. The way I figure, if we keep going at this pace, we'll all have a rather sizable adult film library by the end of the year. Sizable enough, I hope, to sell on eBay.

I think, in a blog entry about a year ago, I said something about a conspiracy on the part of McDonald's, trying to get every single human in the world to enjoy the tastes of ketchup and mustard. Somewhere, someone decided it'd be more cost-effective for everyone in the world to like those condiments. And so each burger that leaves the drive-thru window will leave smothered in red and yellow. Not that anyone asked for it.

Tomorrow, I have to do a ton of laundry. I'm going to chalk this up under "reasons going to Deep Creek was a stupid, bad idea anyway... yeah...," because apparently my dad was planning on busting into my room and throwing out all my dirty laundry. While I like the idea of not having to actually deal with the laundry myself, I don't feel like letting one bad pair of shoes taint (and therefore destroy) all my otherwise decent clothes that deserve to live.

I also think it might be a decent idea to sacrifice a goat at midnight, and spread its blood in a circle around my cable modem and router.

I don't know if this makes me extra weird, but when I've got headphones on, if the stereo channels aren't balanced well, it feels like there's a knife in my brain. It's almost as bad as the sound from a CRT TV, when it's on, but isn't displaying anything. That I can strangely hear from anywere on the same floor as the TV.

Like, it's done to simulate panning across an area for effect, that's fine. But guitars on the left and vocals on the right is aurally lethal. Unless the vocals can match the loudness of the guitar...

No matter how awesome The Low Life can be, I want to mildly slap around whoever usually sits in front of their mixing board.

While talking with Jinah and Dave over some liquor that tasted and smelled of ravioli (Creme de Cassis?), I thought about that nameless boy who'd hurt me last month, and how he apologized on New Years Day. Dave was eager to remind me that I'd once said all it would take is one halfway-decent apology and he'd be out of the doghouse. While I don't quite think that's true, I wonder if I've shut out the possibility of giving him a chance, and why that is.

Now, I'll present my thoughts in the dichotomous style they always seem to take.


Callous, Pragmatic Self: I appreciate his apology. But he still hurt me. And once a jerk, always a jerk. It doesn't matter if I liked him. I feel like he made it clear he wasn't ready to deliver on any reciprocation in that department. God, asshole. But seriously. I'll get over it. Just because he was awesome at times doesn't make all the bad times worth forgiving entirely.

Hopeless Romantic Self: But, you know, maybe the apology was an attempt at reconciliation. As unlikely as it sounds, maybe he really does regret how he conducted himself and wish to make amends. The sign that he took responsibility for it all out of the blue should say something.

Callous, Pragmatic Self: But, the fact that it took this long to dawn on him that he'd made a mistake should say something as well.

Hopeless Romantic Self: People make mistakes. I shouldn't automatically shut him out. Plus, I remember how I felt with him. When we were together, it was amazing, if ephemeral.

Callous, Pragmatic Self: Anyone who makes me feel that amazing, who deserves to be that close to me, should also be able to find time to call me within the week afterwards.

Both Selves: Before anyone calls me a slut, we didn't have sex, or do anything of that nature.

Hopeless Romantic Self: It was just... chick flick mushy pillow talk. There was footsie, for God's sake.

Callous, Pragmatic Self: Innocent footsie. But seriously, just because I feel like that series of moments was perfect doesn't mean he did. I should know. I'm certainly no stranger to acting like things are important to me. Like Devlin said, karma is biting me in the ass. Just in the reverse order that it should. So, I should cut my losses and move on.

Hopeless Romantic Self: Jinah and Dave said I'd never really know unless I gave it a try. I really don't even know all the details behind his actions, or lack thereof. I should at least ask what was going on with that.

Callous, Pragmatic Self: But, the details that I do know are enough. I remember how I felt when he ignored me. I can't imagine what I'd feel if he just said, "that apology was all bullshit, I just didn't want any guilt following me into the new year. I wasn't all that into you." I don't think I could take that, but I'd deserve it if I were fool enough to leave myself vulnerable to that kind of letdown.

Hopeless Romantic Self: I'll never know unless I try. That and, shit. Could I just be shutting him out for that exact reason? Am I just afraid of getting hurt? I mean, if I am, it's justified. But am I forcing myself to keep my distance from anyone that might be able to damage me?

Callous, Pragmatic Self: Of course I am, idiot. What's this whole line of reasoning been about, anyway? Shit. Fear aside, I'd have called him by now, just out of curiousity. If he said I was never all that important to him, I'd tell him to fuck off and go on with my day. At least I'd know.

Hopeless Romantic Self: So, in matters of romance, callousness and pragmatism are really just big, fancy words to make it easier to rationalize fear?

Callous, Pragmatic Self: I should know this already from watching "Donnie Darko." Even though Donnie dismissed it as bullshit, the idea that fear and love are the polar extremes at each end of the emotional spectrum isn't all that ludicrous.

Both Selves: Well, I hope you've enjoyed this. Now back to your regularly scheduled faux sanity.


Maybe I'll dwell on that. Love and fear, when viewed as polar extremes, could influence each other in equal and inverse fashions.

And then, to take a page out of Devlin's book, every interaction I've ever had, and every one I will have, will be at the most basic level, between myself and someone else.

Applied to my current situation in the simplest fashion: Fear can get in the way of love. And no matter how much I talk to myself about what happened, there's still someone out there who hasn't had his say.

I guess I just answered my own question. I do truly thank God or whoever for the gift of introspection, sometimes.

Disclaimer from both Selves: Just because the word "love" was used doesn't mean that I'm actually in love with Nameless Boy. If I had to pick a word, and I had to choose the single one that applied at this exact moment, I'd pick "preoccupied." That is all.

(DB) out.