Meeting In The Aisle

We talked and I think everything is OK. But I I don't know if when she says she doesn't know if she's available to go out Friday is a true statement or a signal to a blow off. The OCD part of me just gets sad thinking that the next entry might be an it's over entry.

And then there's work. I was frank with the attorney I work with about me potentially giving notice. How does he try to convince me to stay? The legal version of "Marty, you're a worthless slut and only I can make you happy 'cuz no one else is going to put up with your shit."

Lately, I've been dreaming about being on vacation, about travelling to a beach.

I'm Losing You

She tells me. She tells me about how, a couple of years ago, someone did terrible things to her, horrible things - things that make me shake with anger, things that have taken away her ability to see herself for the funny, intelligent, sexy woman that she is. And she tells me how everytime she tries to communicate with me, she feels like she's doing something wrong. She tells me that she thinks all she does is make me feel sad. She tells me that she feels uncomfortable because she's beginning to discover the type of woman that I like, and she thinks she can't be her. She tells me I need to find someone who deserves me, someone normal, more put together.

And I try to make her realize that she hasn't done anything wrong, that everytime I've thought about her I smile, that she is the type of woman that I like. I write to her that what she told me doesn't change anything, that my gut reaction is to hold her and try to make her feel better.

She says she thinks I'm great, and that she really likes hanging out with me. I love how when we hold hands she bursts into a wide, child-like grin. If I lose her because she thinks I'm a jerk, or she hates my music tastes, I can accept that. But if I lose her because she thinks I need someone better, because she thinks she's somehow unworthy, I still have to accept her decision, but it will be . . . well . . . I've been worthless at work these last few days. I've been breaking down at random times.

After e-mails and confusion, I realized what I had to do. I told her again that I still want to see her because she really is great, but that I'll let her have some space to think. I told her that whatever she decides, I hope that we could still remain friends, and that she could talk to me anytime. I told her I only want to be something supportive in her life.

So now I just wait.

Fighting For My Love

One of the worst things about being in the beginning of the relationship is sounding melodramatic, I mean Degrassi High melodramatic. Melodrama does not good writing make. (So when in the entire history of this blog has good writing ever mattered to you? - OK, shut up from the peanut gallery).

So everything has kinda stabilized, though I think we have taken a couple of steps back and a breather or two -- we might have pushed it a bit too fast too early.

Anyway, I'm back to this do I write about her / do I not write about her dilemna. She's told me she has / wanted to write a blog, and truthfully, I felt a little weirded out about the thought of her writing about me with her own pseudonym for me. Yet here I am writing about her. Bit hypocritical, aren't I?

Gotta think about this some more.

. . . But Events Conspired

I received the "I'm confused" e-mail, so I send her the "I'm there for you" response. Now, I wait and hope she doesn't give me the "It's not you, it's me" or "I just have a lot of issues in my life" call. So, . . .

so fuck being rational. I hate this waiting, this uncertainty. I hate going from 100 to 0 in less than two weeks. I'm putting up this, "Hey, it's not a big deal, we only went on four dates" front with everyone. But what I hate the most is that I really like her, and I can do absolutely nothing to make her feel better right now. Nothing except for giving her space, and hope she decides that she likes me back and wants to keep me in her life.

Northern Sky

I've been on three dates with Bee's Knees and I haven't been this happy in a long time. She's funny, intelligent, cute, has such a sweet voice that I feel like kissing her each time she talks (which would then prevent her from using that sweet voice -- hmmmm, quite a conundrum). Oh, and most importantly, she thinks I'm swell.

And in the meantime, work just keeps getting worse and worse. How can I be so happy and so miserable at the same time?

Also, at the risk of being a downer, Bee's Knees presents a bit of a problem blogging. How would she feel knowing that I'm writing about her? I haven't told her about the blog just yet, though she has the same quirky sense of humor (and writing) that I have. There's a part of me that's just not ready to let her know all my quirks and insecurities for fear of massively creeping her out. And independent of that is the whole privacy issue - how will she react to being written about? Oh, then there's the whole reader / writer concern - if she doesn't mind being written about, will she ask for edits? So for now, this will be the only entry about Bee's Knees.

Burn Baby Burn

"I'm hard on you because I hope you learn something." Don't you just love folks who attempt to justify their craptastic behavior by treating it as mentoring? When I was eight, my dad used to beat my ass with a 2 by 4 until I got the multiplication table right. I learned fast, I took calculus by the time I was in tenth grade, but I can tell you to this day, I hate math.

Don't Say It's A Comeback

Yeah yeah yeah. It's been a while. Let's recap what's happened since I've been out in the real world:
1) There's a cute chica down in Irvine from match.com who thinks I'm just swell, and I think she's the bee's knees, but we still haven't met face to face;
2) Another MidLaw has passed, and SmallLaw is beginning to feel more and more like a prison, and;
3) After spending 30 hours in the office on the weekend (and cancelling the first date with bee's knees due to work), I get this nasty cold, get told my work isn't up to snuff on that Monday (but then get told on Tuesday to ignore what was said on Monday), take tha Wednesday off because I'm coughing up a lung, and find out that a partner was bitching that I took a day and a half off.

Hmmm, to summarize - chica: good. Work: Fucking nasty vortex of misery.

We Don't Need No Education

Crap. Two nights in a row that I've dreamt I'm back in college. Crap.

Chemicals Captured In A Winter's Grip

The body likes stasis. Throw too much of one thing at it, the body will compensate by producing that thing less. That's how addiction starts -- the drug makes the body produce too much of one thing way too fast. When the drug is gone, the body will react by producing much less. It takes more and more of the drug to compensate. The body in return starts producing less and less.

So last week I was feeling good finally. I'm sure the serotonin and endorphin levels were way up high. My body isn't used to that, so it probably started producing less and less serotonin and endorphin to compensate. I'm beginning to feel like I'm back in the negative loop. I'm trying hard to stop it. You don't become a marathon runner by sprinting a few laps.

I can't care about what's happening with a Certain Someone.

Inertia Creeps

I had a rather disturbing dream last night. I was walking along a wilderness trail with a group of people, just hitting the section at the middle of a mountain, when I ran into the popular section of the trail. For some reason, people hiking with dogs chose this particular spot as the shitting area for their pets. This really pissed me off because they never cleaned up the area. The area was literally full of shit -- chunky shit, runny shit. I was doing my best to avoid getting feces all over my khakis. Some poor park ranger had to pick up the shit with his hands (though, lucky for him, his hands were covered with plastic bags). I got some splatter on my khakis, which further pissed me off.

Eventually, I got to the commercial area of the trail. It was basically an outdoor mall in the middle of the wilderness. The group I was with got hungry, so we hit a burger joint. It was starting to get dark. We decided to get a table outside. The busboys had not cleared everything yet, so there were plates with leftovers - fries, a half eaten chicken - still on the table. One guy started eating the leftovers. I was disgusted. Geez, couldn't the guy wait until a menu was brought? Then my cell phone rang. My dad called to tell me that they were planning on staying at camp for four more days. I was uber pissed now. I only came on the trip because my folks told me they were staying for the weekend, and they knew that I had to be somewhere in four days. Then I woke up.

Sound and fury meaning nothing? Maybe not.

Today was a bit of a backslide. Maybe it's the weather. Maybe it's the fatigue. Maybe it's a little bit of A, a little bit of B. A bit of jealousy. A bit of anger. There's a part of me that still cares what a Certain Someone thinks. And a larger part of me that's still angry as hell. So what does this have to do with the dream?

One theory holds that every person you see in a dream is part of you. So, the guy eating the leftovers? That's me still dwelling on the past. What are leftovers but stuff left behind? I'm pissed off that I'm still caring about what everyone at the office thinks of me. All the shit? Well, I'm not the only person with issues in the office, and I'm letting that affect me as well. I guess I need to keep on moving.

Today Is Whatever I Want It To Be

Obviously, I'm not conducting a purely scientific experiment based on the most current, rigourous lab protocols. That would entail daily reports of findings written contemporaneous with results as they occur. Each entry would have to be signed off by at least two witnesses. However, I never could stand lab work (hate the smell of butane and burning plastic), and I don't think I need two folks saying, "Yup, Marty seems to be happier." Anyway, much like a pitcher doesn't need to know the calculus for the trajectory of a ball to throw a no-hitter, I don't need to measure my serotonin levels to know that I'm feeling better.

Signal to Noise (Redux)

I see LA Chick and I find out I have an interview lined up at MidLaw on the same day. Hmmmmm.

There She Was Just A Walkin' Down the Street

It was bound to happen sometime. I saw LA Chick over at Century City. No, my little heart didn't go pitter pat, though she has a great figure. At most, I felt the surprise of recognition. Is there a lesson here? That time heals all wounds? That this whole experience may be a byproduct of the experiment? That there is no lesson?

But I Feel Good, But I Feel Fine

Feeling better about things, though I'm not sure if it's a result of the experiment or if it's me doing the fortress of solitude thing today.

All the World Come and Satisfy Me

For the next month, we'll be conducting an experiment. A little bit of chaos magick. A little bit of music therapy. If it works, I won't be me.