Marc
Levels of frustration are beginning to loom. Valentine's Day around the corner. Most hated holiday ever.
I actually promised I wouldn't write twice tonight, but I honestly have nothing else to do. Except homework, but I don't want to do it, so there.
I hate Valentine's Day, with a passion. In fact, I've never actually had a Valentine. I think I came close once in junior high but I got dumped a week or two beforehand. Que shiraz. I remember a few years ago, when we lived above a bar in downtown Normal, thinking about the holiday and how fake it was and how much I just wanted to skip the day and be on to February 15th. I think I wrote something down, but apparently I've lost it. It's just nice to know that I haven't changed all that much since then. I still think this holiday is stupid and pointless, but that doesn't make me any less downtrodden on that particular day. Kind of a weird split.
I think a lot of it stems from my complete lack of abilities as a significant other. It all boils down to one hard, simple truth -- I love me more than I love anyone else. Sad, but true. In my head, I'm the coolest motherfucker on this planet. That doesn't mean I don't have a lot of love to go around, it just means that I dish it out in sparse, sparse doses. People have gotten frustrated with me in the past because of this, and I honestly don't know how to react to it. I seem to just kind of shrug my shoulders from time to time and hide in my sweatshirt and say, "well ... yeah". And then I clap my hands and then I sigh, and then I walk away. For good.
From time to time I get questions from my Mom like, "So, when are you going to get a steady girlfriend?" or the "Are you ever going to grow up at least a little bit?" She says them jokingly, and she pokes me in the side or tussles my hair when she says these things, but I know that deep down inside I am beginning to scare my Mom. She knows that I have not dated anyone steadily since I was sixteen. She knows that music took that spot in my life about six years ago, but now that that's mostly gone she can't understand why I'm not out at the bars trying to get phone numbers and hooking up one on one with people for extended periods of time. We talked about this a bit at her birthday dinner. All I can say to her is that I think I'm too young, which she doesn't seem to believe. On the one hand, she's never asked me if I was gay, like has happened to both Zook and the Pike. I wouldn't care if she did. Hell, I'd be curious at this point, too if I were her. But I know she wants to see me grow up.
I still dress the same as I did when I was sixteen. I still think that being annoying in front of my family is fun. I know that its endearing at some times, but I know my Mom gets tired of it. "When is my baby going to become a man?" I bet she asks herself that every once in a while. I've not brought a girlfriend home since 1995. Yikes. My Mom loves me, this I know. And I love my Mom, like a good baby boy should. I just want to prove to her, someday, that I can be a guy with a suit and short hair and respectable clothes and a steady job and kids. But at twenty two? No. Wrong.
I might delete this later.
Levels of frustration are beginning to loom. Valentine's Day around the corner. Most hated holiday ever.
I actually promised I wouldn't write twice tonight, but I honestly have nothing else to do. Except homework, but I don't want to do it, so there.
I hate Valentine's Day, with a passion. In fact, I've never actually had a Valentine. I think I came close once in junior high but I got dumped a week or two beforehand. Que shiraz. I remember a few years ago, when we lived above a bar in downtown Normal, thinking about the holiday and how fake it was and how much I just wanted to skip the day and be on to February 15th. I think I wrote something down, but apparently I've lost it. It's just nice to know that I haven't changed all that much since then. I still think this holiday is stupid and pointless, but that doesn't make me any less downtrodden on that particular day. Kind of a weird split.
I think a lot of it stems from my complete lack of abilities as a significant other. It all boils down to one hard, simple truth -- I love me more than I love anyone else. Sad, but true. In my head, I'm the coolest motherfucker on this planet. That doesn't mean I don't have a lot of love to go around, it just means that I dish it out in sparse, sparse doses. People have gotten frustrated with me in the past because of this, and I honestly don't know how to react to it. I seem to just kind of shrug my shoulders from time to time and hide in my sweatshirt and say, "well ... yeah". And then I clap my hands and then I sigh, and then I walk away. For good.
From time to time I get questions from my Mom like, "So, when are you going to get a steady girlfriend?" or the "Are you ever going to grow up at least a little bit?" She says them jokingly, and she pokes me in the side or tussles my hair when she says these things, but I know that deep down inside I am beginning to scare my Mom. She knows that I have not dated anyone steadily since I was sixteen. She knows that music took that spot in my life about six years ago, but now that that's mostly gone she can't understand why I'm not out at the bars trying to get phone numbers and hooking up one on one with people for extended periods of time. We talked about this a bit at her birthday dinner. All I can say to her is that I think I'm too young, which she doesn't seem to believe. On the one hand, she's never asked me if I was gay, like has happened to both Zook and the Pike. I wouldn't care if she did. Hell, I'd be curious at this point, too if I were her. But I know she wants to see me grow up.
I still dress the same as I did when I was sixteen. I still think that being annoying in front of my family is fun. I know that its endearing at some times, but I know my Mom gets tired of it. "When is my baby going to become a man?" I bet she asks herself that every once in a while. I've not brought a girlfriend home since 1995. Yikes. My Mom loves me, this I know. And I love my Mom, like a good baby boy should. I just want to prove to her, someday, that I can be a guy with a suit and short hair and respectable clothes and a steady job and kids. But at twenty two? No. Wrong.
I might delete this later.
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