There is a curiosity to figure out how much weight can be carried. The responsibility, the baggage, the dwelling … All of it adds up to a stress that seems to linger and lag behind. Even the great aspects of life can take their tolls and join, add to the negativity and stress, because great aspects are shot for and anticipated and enjoyed. Not being able to have these joys, simple or elaborate as they are, yields disappointment.
All of this can add up to the jackass self, the part of a person that laughs (often maniacally) during experiences of both pain and pleasure. Sometimes this takes the form of a person and sometimes this takes the form of a shadow; regardless, it’s all metaphorical or figurative or hypothetical.
And while you’re going through this bout of What the fuck?, everyone else is not. Well, they might be, but they cover the duress up quite well. And you do, too. There are always others in your position, and maybe others is everyone.
Today at the Syracuse New Times, I wrote about being shy. I also wrote about priorities. And I eluded to priorities often getting the best of a person. What exactly is the right thing? Ignoring a chance at a possible interest wasn’t the brightest move. However, in turn, ignoring the main reason I was at the pub — my friend’s party — would have equally been as terrible. I don’t know this girl in the floral print shirt, but I do know my friends. Due to the majority of the group knowing me, they knew I could hold my own, and so skipping out on 10 to 15 minutes of the party wouldn’t have been a horrible thing; any given day, they would have encouraged me to talk to her. However, meeting someone for the first time and striking up conversation, especially if an interest is blatant and reciprocated, 10 to 15 minutes is not good enough; effectively meeting someone for a first time needs a 30 to 45 minute conversation, in my opinion. Time would get lost, and the next thing would be: getting another drink and sharing more conversation with the young woman.
Time always is lost track of.
Pretty, shy girls. They’re essentially catches to me, because I (can try to) understand where they’re coming from. I’ll say it again: this girl was pretty, and I blew it. First impressions have not been my thing lately.
Saturday was a prime example of a damned-if-you-do-and-damned-if-you-don’t situation. I could have missed out on love, but I could have pissed off friends at the same time and with a different decision.
Those forks in the road, I tell ya.
In terms of the OkCupid match/date. She’s a great girl when it comes down to it. It’s still too early in the relationship to get jealous or huffy puffy about talking to others. That’s what’s up with online dating: you’re talking to many people until something gets solidified. She’s talking to others as well, and who she is talking to or what she does is frankly none of my business. I’m in that same position as she is. Should she get a little irritated, she has right to do so; however, flying off the handle would not be an appropriate course of action on either end.
I’m just an open book; ergo, the writing.
She has right to cut if off, and I would be as well. I’d pray not, considering I enjoy spending time with her. But how she thinks is not my decision. I’m definitely anticipating the next time we hang out.
[This post is inspired by “The Cart Before the Horses” by Bruce McCall, the cover of the April 28, 2014, edition of The New Yorker.]