lovecraft in winston

three rooms and a hallway. i've become so familiar with this place. five if you count the storeroom and the bathroom. i ask what people are thinking. tell me something interesting. tell me something about you i don't know.

i just had a small moment of intense joy. i put on my sweatshirt. i just washed it a couple hours ago. it smelled wonderful and clean. i giggled a little out loud.

i want to ask people: why can't i find love? why is it that everyone perfect i meet is already with some other guy? why's it so hard to meet people i don't know? don't i deserve more than that? it's not something you can easily get by openly conversing about. not a gap so easily traversed. tends to set people back on their heels.

what i mean to say is that this beautiful girl just came and ordered drinks... two of the special recipe i stole from simplyummy. she was here for the very first one, wrote it up on our special board and all. and she's all smiles and kind words. and i have no idea how to meet her. or how to get close to her. or how to go to dinner with her and whatever else there is to do. there's a way to do it... people get together all the time. fear probably has something to say about it. there's abby whom i know more about than anyone else in my golf class. and none of that matters because what i know isn't anything at all. it's what happens when your limited experience of someone is in a constricted social setting. complete with rules and boundaries and small tasks to complete. jokes are there to make and small conversation intervals and not much else. and still, abby is beautiful in a giraffe-ish sort of way. to see her hit a golf ball, i mean. and it's not a bad thing at all, no. she's tall and thin and when she bends over to address the ball it seems like her upper body goes on forever... all hips upward hanging in space. and she's a pretty girl. which leads to me daydreaming about asking her out in a very low-pressure social sort of way. and still, i can already see the look on her face when she searches for an excuse not to. when she wonders why this kid is here again trying to be her partner. i suppose that's a sad thought. if she'd agree, however, i'd be surprised no matter what. i think i'll always be surprised.

that's a risk, though. that's new to me. danielle was something altogether different. her signals were as strong as mine but equally false. well, false i suppose. who knows what she thinks or feels? it doesn't really matter i suppose. she's with rob. what's there to do when someone you love loves someone else? there's no way i want her out of my life even though when she's not here and we're not talking and i can think about other things, i feel better about it. there's always that little spark of emotional masochism that i'm drawn to though, like a fated silver screen actor.

pretty coffee shop girl just walked out the door.

it's why i want to spend time with her, fully prepared to enjoy the hell out of it and expecting two or three painful instances of reality breaking through like a scar of bare canvas in a claude monet painting. those times when i'll lose myself for a little while and be really happy. then something small will remind me hey! she's got a boyfriend. you know she doesn't entertain thoughts of you at all. she's wonderful because she's wonderful, not because you're you. this is all a dream. it's a hologram or a hallucination. she's an escort for the afternoon. these are the temptations of jesus. of adam. you can look but don't touch.

i'm wondering if i should include a song about boston on this mix. going back to boston. i want to but, if not for the merit of the song, probably only to make a statement. she wouldn't understand. see, due to my infinite tact (pfft...) i don't believe she has a reasonable grasp of the gravity of the situation. she doesn't know when it kills me. the worst of it all... she wants to listen to me. wants to be that wonderful friend, just like i want to be for her. i'm all prepared to hear about boston and christmas and rob because it's what i have to do to be close to her. because i care about her more than i care about me. she wants to hear what's bothering me, what makes me sad. but she can't because it's her. it's not a new irony for me and one of my least favorite to be honest. the beautiful arrow through my side asking why the tears? i want to tell her everything so badly but i'm also haunted by the sneaking suspicion that everything i do is a ploy to win her over. i can't shake that idea, most likely because it's true. whenever we go out, i'll be charming and laughing and smiling and asking questions. not like we're normal friends with no attachments, but to win her over. and even though i know it's a failure waiting to happen, a cursed venture from the get go... i can't stop. it will only get worse until i can't see her again. that will be the saddest day of all.

and you're waiting, waiting, hoping, hoping things will turn out fine...

i've gotten into an honest spiral with ali. i can't tell her the things i want to. it's too personal. how do you tell someone that you don't feel close enough to them to talk about anything very important? because you don't feel they invest the proper attention. because it's abundantly clear that only a very few of the population at large are let in. i'm not inside, probably never will be. what is there to do? how do i get out of it now?

brutal, man. brutal.