Feeling:
Listening to:
Reading/Watching:

You know the times when people need to be alone with their thoughts?

Or... at least they feel like they should? Or... they feel like they should wish that they should? Or something... it's all rather confusing.

I hardly have time for long solitary reflection and soul-searching nowadays, between working, setting up the new website and doodling a bit with my new digital camera, hee hee. This might very well be a good thing, since over-analyzing was always one of my (imaginary?) vices. I even overanalyze about whether or not I'm overanalyzing.

It's just that I've gotten to a point where no revelations come. I'm in a swamp of non-decision, it seems, or else I arrived at the right decision a while ago and now I just can't resign myself to it.

The decisions are all varied and slightly intertwined, concerning that enigmatic group we chicks like to call the opposite sex. If you are disgusted now by my flowering-up of what some people would term Boy Trouble, by all means stop reading here.

It's just... I thought I had arrived on a decision about Charlie Brown long ago. I thought I had. I kept re-deciding on it each time I wavered. Thing is, if I had to keep re-deciding, could it have been a decision at all, or wishful thinking? And part of that decision was to stop thinking about it and get on with my life, but every time I would proudly tell myself, "Now see, that's a whole three days you've not thought of It even once" it would spawn a three-hour period of... well, thinking.

The less I focus on it, like one of those magic eye pictures, the less effort I put into it, the more the true picture comes to focus and I can lose what's right in front of me for a lovely all-around fuzziness and that one special little 3-D image... okay, now I'm lost in the extended metaphor. Allow me to extract myself.

Then there's *Him*. The original center of my thoughts, the boy who always makes me smile. Where he used to make me impatient, anxious, often tearful with uncertainty (while we were together), now after months apart at a time I know with a sweet serenity that he will always love me and I will always love him and I'll probably invite him to my wedding and drink a toast to him, silly and trite as it sounds to my writer's ear. Every goofy thing about him still makes me grin reminiscently, and every moment in his company is a good one. I looked forward to the two seconds we'd have to talk when I went to drop off his graduation gift, for goodness sake. I really must stop being so paranoid about scaring him off again and simply ask the boy out for a midnight hangout sometime, as he apparently has grown into his true self this past year, just like me.

And I still giggle when I remember how he stayed watching from the porch after we hugged goodbye today and I walked to my car. He was still watching, a slightly dazed smile on his face like he used to have the first weeks we crushed on each other, when I got behind the wheel and grinned at him. I must daze him a little- hell, looking back at who I was before I left, I daze myself.

Then there are the Untouchables I work with- more than mere waiters, these are variations on Adonis wearing aprons. They're suave and funny and flirt with every other girl in the place except me and I wouldn't touch them with a ten-foot pepper mill, yet they remind me always of who I'll never be in their eyes.

And then the Touchables. The cuties. The goofy boys who chat rather than flirt, who get excited talking about the X-Men sequel while filling pitchers of iced tea, who look at me in that comfortingly familiar asexual way and who can be my friends. I love them. But again with the same dilemma- this town will be 200 miles away by September, and that's no way to begin something.

So in short, I'm trying to adapt to the single life without letting myself notice it's a single life, because noticing is always what prolongs it, you know? But most of the time it's like not thinking of a polar bear in a snowstorm. Like the Eskimos, I fail every time. And it only works when I'm absolutely unconscious of the fact, because thinking about not thinking about something is trying to cheat.

LOL, on a different note, catch an Eddie Izzard routine sometime. Funniest comedian in the world. I could quote you pages of his Dressed to Kill act, perhaps better than he could. Excellent way to distract oneself.

Anyone like the new look, btw? Anyone new and not remember the old look so they're reading this entire entry thinking, "Y'know, they have medications for her condition..."

Comments? 0 so far...
Not a Diaryland member? Sign the Guestbook.