I remember a time when I rarely ever let my hair flow down my back so freely, let alone half up. It was from about 3rd grade to 9th grade. My hair always needed to by tied back.
I don't exactly remember why that was or how it changed. It just was a simple recollection of how I managed to change in appearance from childhood to whatever stage of life I'm in right now.
It makes me wonder as to how such a change came about. Am I more comfortable with myself? What happened to me? And why can I not remember?
Saturday, February 23
And with the Green Fairy, I realize...
... the silliness with which I wrote the last entry.
I must say that I reach dangerously low points of emotion when lacking human contact. My roommate's jests were enough to pick me right back up.
But for how long?
I must say that I reach dangerously low points of emotion when lacking human contact. My roommate's jests were enough to pick me right back up.
But for how long?
I Bring Only Sadness Upon Myself
"You really are a hard one to impress."
Is that all too true? Certainly, I would hope not; I merely seek one thing of the boy: that he prove me wrong about the universal thought of males. For you see, being a realist, I held an almost lowly regard for all and refused, absolutely refused, to let my kneed buckle at the slightest glance.
In the recent past, I'm glad to say that I have not been broken by the selfish, lascivious ways of the majority of men. Until I, as I would like to believe, met one who has proven me wrong. Kind, gentle, compassionate, with an edginess that fortifies his self, what more can I ask of a gentleman?
Nothing, right?
This is where my cousin's statement mentioned at the beginning comes into play. Surely his gallant manner should be enough to dissuade me from self-imposed homosexuality. I believed it so. Until my one question is his simple answer illuminated one obvious factor that I chose to ignore: he's a guy. Of course, he is a much better one that most, making realize that there are those who are essentially better than the dumb majority.
And what kills me is the following statement that my inner self found it troublesome to mention: but he has not proven you wrong about the nature of men. As I've said before, he's a guy.
And I realize the reality of it all; nothing can be done to change the natural state of masculinity. Nothing I can do, that is. No amount of complaining, no amount of tears at night will change that one aspect that makes men men. Why is it then so impossible for me to just accept it? To just, basically, lower my standards in order to include at least one male into consideration instead of leaving myself in complete emotional and physical celibacy?
I don't know. Perhaps this will all blow over with a good night's rest and some soul-numbing alcohol.
Is that all too true? Certainly, I would hope not; I merely seek one thing of the boy: that he prove me wrong about the universal thought of males. For you see, being a realist, I held an almost lowly regard for all and refused, absolutely refused, to let my kneed buckle at the slightest glance.
In the recent past, I'm glad to say that I have not been broken by the selfish, lascivious ways of the majority of men. Until I, as I would like to believe, met one who has proven me wrong. Kind, gentle, compassionate, with an edginess that fortifies his self, what more can I ask of a gentleman?
Nothing, right?
This is where my cousin's statement mentioned at the beginning comes into play. Surely his gallant manner should be enough to dissuade me from self-imposed homosexuality. I believed it so. Until my one question is his simple answer illuminated one obvious factor that I chose to ignore: he's a guy. Of course, he is a much better one that most, making realize that there are those who are essentially better than the dumb majority.
And what kills me is the following statement that my inner self found it troublesome to mention: but he has not proven you wrong about the nature of men. As I've said before, he's a guy.
And I realize the reality of it all; nothing can be done to change the natural state of masculinity. Nothing I can do, that is. No amount of complaining, no amount of tears at night will change that one aspect that makes men men. Why is it then so impossible for me to just accept it? To just, basically, lower my standards in order to include at least one male into consideration instead of leaving myself in complete emotional and physical celibacy?
I don't know. Perhaps this will all blow over with a good night's rest and some soul-numbing alcohol.
One of Those Days
Having risen with less than 2 hours of sleep in each eye, it's only logical to assume that I would embrace my bed after my return from choir practice.
That's exactly what I did. Well-rested now, I'm far too late to begin any large activity and am left with the option of mere exploration. And that, really doesn't sound bad.
On days when I'm alone and half-unwillingly to see friendly faces, I feel at the most ease and the most natural. No obligations to anyone save a phone call or two when necessary. My time is my own. My world is my own. Some would argue that this sense of freedom I feel is wholly deceiving, asking me to ponder upon the metaphysical state of Freedom and Truth, and what they really are.
But in whatever honesty I can conjure up at this moment, I can say that right now, I can give a rat's ass about such things. Surely I worry enough about such questions during the week. Right now, let Apathy be my mistress and let us be.
That's exactly what I did. Well-rested now, I'm far too late to begin any large activity and am left with the option of mere exploration. And that, really doesn't sound bad.
On days when I'm alone and half-unwillingly to see friendly faces, I feel at the most ease and the most natural. No obligations to anyone save a phone call or two when necessary. My time is my own. My world is my own. Some would argue that this sense of freedom I feel is wholly deceiving, asking me to ponder upon the metaphysical state of Freedom and Truth, and what they really are.
But in whatever honesty I can conjure up at this moment, I can say that right now, I can give a rat's ass about such things. Surely I worry enough about such questions during the week. Right now, let Apathy be my mistress and let us be.
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