So, perhaps I’ll start plowing through my life, sifting for treasures. You certainly don’t have to read it if you don’t want to. Lord knows you didn’t even have to read this. :)
Oh good. It honestly helps to know there's at least one person who would be reading it; keeps me from going too far off tangent, and makes me examine everything instead of assuming knowledge or point. :)
you, my sweet friend, are always welcome. always. and if ever i have forgotten to invite you along, as i am all too falible, please shove your beatiful smiling face into my conversation and question, "What? Can I come?"
I am gripped by the conviction that if I attain my own standard of beauty and fix every physical thing about myself that I find to be less than perfect, someone will come along and sweep me off my feet and love me like I’ve never been loved before.
I'd be more than happy to sweep you off your feet and love you like you've never been loved before just as you are now; I've got a line on a firetruck, the goats, and the ping pong table, however I'm not sure where we're going to get a necromantic chicken or 50 gallons of bubblegun ice cream.
First, I distinguish between love and in love. Certainly all people I have loved, I still love. Most of them, in fact, are still in my life.
I'm talking about being *in* love - the heady rush of infatuation and interest and attraction and connection. Not at all being in a relationship - I am still mightily unsure that I am even interested in a relationship. I feel a lack of connection, though, which is manifesting itself in one way by making me wish that I could, at the very least, develop a consuming crush. It would be even nicer to be in love.
I gave up on the movie star desires long ago because I consider myself far too unattractive to have that kind of epic romance.
But. I have been in love. A few times. And every time felt like drugs to me. A bad drug that I didn't consent to take, and I didn't know when it would wear off. I'm probably one of the few people who have been in love and hope it never happens again.
I *am* a love junkie. I sill have a paralyzing fear of a certain kind of psuedo-love, which in fact made me act like a junkie in all the very bad ways for a very long time, but I remember having good love too.
Really, as you've said before, I'm just a romantic and an idealist, and I would be if I never dated anyone again and died at 80 alone with my cats. I would probably write thousands of epic livejournal posts about the grandness of love before I died, though. :)
The main reason I have stopped trying to change myself for that perfect man... for that fairy tale that could be just around the corner... is that all I think I really have is myself. Becoming something else is just that... someone else. Someone who probably already exists. And I don't think that that person, that particular someone else, is the only one who is getting her fairy tale. If she has a story, I have a story. And it's all mine, no matter how f*cked up I think I am in it.
I do want to emphasize that I'm not ACTUALLY changing myself, for the perfect man or otherwise. This is, more than anything else, a recitation of my most petty impulses. Which, as I say, tend to pretty much vanish when I'm actually in a relationship; they are connected not to my desires to be in a relationship, but to my insecurities, my loneliness, and the steadily increasing doubts that have a tendency to echo a little too loudly on occasion in my self-imposed isolation. Essentially, they are the things I don't admit to outside of Livejournal because they are things that have no place outside my head.
Oh no, I didn't mean to imply that. You don't seem like someone who gives into that impulse at all, I just was sharing the way I happen to beat it back.
At the end of it all I know that the person I attract by changing myself is just flat-out not the person who's right for me. They're right for someone very much like me, maybe, but not actually me. Those times I've tried to change myself for someone, it doesn't work too well. Like, a day of trying to be someone else, and I just end up exploding in one fashion or another in all my worst ways. :)
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/me is looking forward to it. ^_^
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always... always welcome.
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I'd be more than happy to sweep you off your feet and love you like you've never been loved before just as you are now; I've got a line on a firetruck, the goats, and the ping pong table, however I'm not sure where we're going to get a necromantic chicken or 50 gallons of bubblegun ice cream.
-Ogre
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The rest of it's fine, though.
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And I'll leave the goats at home. They always hog the ice cream anyway.
-Ogre
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Usually, I've used cookies n' cream. :P
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(The comment has been removed)
First, I distinguish between love and in love. Certainly all people I have loved, I still love. Most of them, in fact, are still in my life.
I'm talking about being *in* love - the heady rush of infatuation and interest and attraction and connection. Not at all being in a relationship - I am still mightily unsure that I am even interested in a relationship. I feel a lack of connection, though, which is manifesting itself in one way by making me wish that I could, at the very least, develop a consuming crush. It would be even nicer to be in love.
Reply
I gave up on the movie star desires long ago because I consider myself far too unattractive to have that kind of epic romance.
But. I have been in love. A few times. And every time felt like drugs to me. A bad drug that I didn't consent to take, and I didn't know when it would wear off. I'm probably one of the few people who have been in love and hope it never happens again.
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Really, as you've said before, I'm just a romantic and an idealist, and I would be if I never dated anyone again and died at 80 alone with my cats. I would probably write thousands of epic livejournal posts about the grandness of love before I died, though. :)
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Becoming something else is just that... someone else. Someone who probably already exists. And I don't think that that person, that particular someone else, is the only one who is getting her fairy tale.
If she has a story, I have a story. And it's all mine, no matter how f*cked up I think I am in it.
My thoughts, a few two cents I guess
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