LiveJournal Rant Week?
I don't know. It just seemed apropos. Besides it seems like the thing to do when pressure starts building up right here (points two revolvers, one at head, one at chest).
He infuriates me and is endearing to me; and somehow, though feelings ebb with the time, and drift away from us all, these feelings never die -- they subsist in any subconscious niche and tend to flourish until one dramatic combustion is required to wipe the slate clean. I count how long I've liked him per production (ah, Academy Theatre wannabes) -- so far, I'm now on my third. But things have changed in these past few weeks, I've reconciled with the knowledge that we're friends and there is no chance of our companionship going any further. And suffice to say -- I'm enjoying that much more; but I know that the feelings will exist until that spontaneous reaction (oh, Bio -- how you have engulfed [phagocytosis] my mind) comes to clean me and leave me with the urge to go and perform a non-spontaneous (oh God) action on something (one) else. And that time might have come ...
But I doubt it. Because first of all, he lives an hour away from me and we hardly know each other. Perhaps for the better, perhaps not. I shouldn't throw myself into this. Second of all, our flirting consists horrifically of innuendos and whatnot (although music will kick in quite frequently). Third, he's the son of someone who works in my father's company; not same department, but same heading nevertheless. I can't do that. I can't. Or can I?
SAT IIs and College Applications are destroying my nonexistent life. Technically, I should be continuously studying my SATs right now, but my head took a turn for the worse and I'm taking a well-deserved break (I worked from 9 this morning until 3 PM). These two things instill the most fear in my life. And of course, the former has to take place on the same day as ...
I'm not pageant material. I came to terms with that a long time ago. But I'm doing this -- and strangely enough, I want to win. Because that's how I am -- competition drives me and steals my self-confidence and boosts my insanity, but I do want it anyways. But honestly, my confidence level is nonexistent. I don't say this for sympathy or for an ego-boosting trip -- but it's the truth. And mine has never been so suckered as it is now. I find imperfections more than ever and I worry, and I (dear Lord) want this for wrong reasons, maybe. I want this so that my mother/danceteacher/family/dressmaker/hairdresser/make-up consultant will be proud of me. I want this so that I can be desirable. I want this so that I can prove to myself that I can do this. I want this so that people will know that I can do this. And I want this so that I can stop living in my mother's shadow.
I need a partner. Male, or female -- I find myself caring less and less. I need someone to tell me on Tuesday nights, that I shouldn't be afraid, that they'll protect me somehow (make up a silly, childish reason for me ... please, my fears are equally prepubescent). And you, to you, my first LJ-cut -- I hated you that night. That you offered no consolation, that you teased me in trying to get me to lighten up, and I've no right to have hated you, but I did, because I was scared, and I was 5 again, and I was afraid of the dark and my skin was cold and your brand of understanding does not exist. But this cut isn't all about you -- but I just want to know, how does a human being live without a heart? Now I've convoluted things. But this is where I stand, where I can't pretend that someone's watching me dance anymore, that a lilt of love doesn't sweeten my smile any more. That I don't have someone to picture. That I'm growing cold. And that I'm losing the means to love because there's no one to love (because you ... are not in my cards).
So I walk alone. And I need someone there to just watch me and make sure I don't fall into a gutter in my steel-heel reinforced stilettos.