You know how sometimes it’s when you most want to be careful that you fuck up the hardest? Yeah, I’m feeling like that and it’s driving me nuts. I’m usually not careful about anything (metaphorically I’ve always seen my M.O as a forceful landing on a really narrow space. I’ll bump my nose on the runway, might scrape the sides of the ship with the walls of the landing dock and make a loud, swift, spark-filled landing, but at least I landed it and everyone’s accounted for) but for a select few things I’m so opposite to that, it’s ridiculous. I’m at the “command center” in the back of my eyes seeing as how much of an idiot I’m acting tending to every knook and nail of the problem that quite frankly I’m ashamed of myself, nodding in dissaproval and hiding my face with my hand… wanting to make like ostriches do.

I might’ve stepped out of line with someone a few days ago and I think that as a result I pushed this person away, yet again. I hate fucking up with this personal, specially since I really like having this person around but there are many things that kind of trump that from being and of them, at least in my perception, is how ridiculous I feel trying to be understanding and extra careful as to not set off any mines while crossing this particular landfill. We always hurt the ones we love, eh? Crazy. My history with this person is so rich and long-standing that I don’t think a reboot is possible and I blame myself for it. Me and my inability to forget. God, this could use a reboot. With this particular thing, and this is incredibly rare of me… with this particular person I dwell and think about the many ways it could have gone down and the many ways I could have reacted to any given situation always after the fact, making it totally pointless and therefore making me feel like an idiot. That’s the thing with her (duh, yes… it’s a she. I’m human too. Fuck you.) and that’s what makes it such a monumental task for me whenever she peeks into my life: she makes me feel like an idiot. Like a lovestruck idiot. And it’s such a particular feeling that I can easily be addicted to it. I don’t think I’ve ever experienced something quite like it, being able to get out so much energy from burning so little fuel. This woman has come to represent many things, and my “relationship” with her has involuntarily helped mold me into the person I am today. Confident, loud, with reckless abandon and swift resolution. Yet, I’ve never quite understood why someone who, on the surface, doesn’t seem to care much about me, my feelings or what I do can be so influential. I go to her like a magnet, in such a way I have to show restraint. So much it’s uncomfortable. And the more I think about it, the more I see how she brings out the things about me I’m not… I’m not confident when it comes to her. Every time I see her, talk to her or hear from her in this matchbox of a city I’m always taken off base. I can’t hide it either, and I hate it. It’s a lack of control… and I don’t know why, for the love of Marley… I don’t know why I like the feeling so much.

It’s raw. So much so that I made a promise to myself some time ago that if I was going to give into it then I’m going to roll around in it like a pig in shit and run with it and push it to it’s limits. That’s how much I like the feeling. And I like her. As a person, she’s incredible. I always have her in the back of my mind, always present like many other things that show me what I should or shouldn’t do. This restraint has helped me keep myself level-headed when it comes to dealing with people and their shit, giving me a clarity that can only be compared to my confidence in that these are problems I can handle in a relatively calm, cool and collected manner… but not this. There is no gray area to this, and that’s one of the reaons why I like her, and why I like it. I don’t have to fool myself. I can’t. It’s overwhelming, consuming, dangerous, delicious and I’m waiting to the day I can sink into it. But then… then comes the part I hate.

The reasons why I don’t like to have this feeling with me, as well as why I don’t like talking about it in the first place, why this girl is souch a sore subject for me is be is because she can quite easily spin me around, punch me on the head and leave me on the street to die. “You hurt the ones you love,” maximized a hundred-fold. I feel very vulnerable… it’s one of the FEW things that completely disarm me. The kind of thing that gentlemen don’t use as a weapon in a fair fight out of honor. It’s the easy way of getting a rise out of me. And I feel like an idiot for having this Aquille’s Heel, for letting it kill me like it does and for me not being able to dump it all in a trash can and move the fuck on. The country’s too small, the society’s smaller and the last thing you want to see when you least expect it is whatever makes you as vulnerable as a hush puppy. It’s my drama. And one that I’ve lived with for a long-ass time. It’s part of the reason why I identify with “Great Expectations” (both the book and the movie) by Charles Dickens so much. I don’t know, I guess not all is fun and games in the Land of Rob. There’s a garden, a beautiful garden with every type of flower you could possibly imagine spread out like a big, multicolored rug agross crisp green grass below a bright blue sky and yellow sun that shines the place just so, butterflies and eagles and fucking unicorns prancing about free and happy… and you wish you could go in, but the dream is over once you realize this Promised Land is sealed off by huge black gates that spew fire and brimstone. Such is my luck and I haven’t been able to get past the barricade. And I have the burns and scars to prove it. All I can do is accept the space is there, be in denial about the fact that the place is only there to teease and torment me in the cruelest way possible until it decides it’s alright for me to be lifted of my penance and play around the rest of my land where it’s fun and great. What an irony.
Sorry for the gay post. Had to get it off my chest… “whatevah, whatevah… I’ll do what I want!”

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