010: There are monsters here

Anatomy of an SWP post: Organizational assignment (to be modified and played out month after month, no exceptions) non-sequiter title that may either be a reference, a rumination, a quote, a thought, an image, or any random string of words. Its meaning may or may not be explored in the body of the post. The body is to be comprised of a summary of everything of note that has happened since the previous post, or anything that is not of note. Mix in cultural and societal observations, season with venting of stress, add self-deprecation, self-loathing, white guilt, western guilt, male guilt, self-doubt, fear of the future, fear of technology, and ultimately cultural complacency as subtext. No matter the topic, sexual frustration is always present and usually made into the primary topic of discussion. Everyone is reminded that if they didn't care they would not have visited. Occasionally ending on an unrelated observation, final thought, rumination, observation or reference, and at last the phrase "Keep on rockin'."

I have a folder in my e-mail entitled "Blog Replies." The earliest e-mail in it was from march 21 2005, under a year after I starter this blog and a few months before I graduated high school. I use it not only for SWP replies, but also for replies to any other blog I have used like LJ, most services that include notifications including Facebook and POF. It contains 3591 e-mails. I have never made it a point to re-read any of them. My proper inbox, from which I have deleted very little since yahoo began offering unlimited storage (and very little before that) and active since about 1999, contains 3865 e-mails. I can't even imagine what most of them might be.

I took a peek at a random selection from Blog Replies, a reply-to-your-reply from a friend's LJ. It reminded me of the early part of my relationship with this friend. I'd be lying to deny that, when we first met at the beginning of grade 12, I entertained some attraction to her, but it faded over time, not because I felt the need to reluctantly give up, but because, as is so often the case, we had a real friendship going. I'm not sure if, prior to grade 12, I'd have believed honest friendship was possible between a guy and a girl. Since then, the majority of my meaningful friendships have been with women, to the point where the only wonder is that I've failed to make any of them into a romantic relationship.

The first 17 or so years of my life beat the fucking romance right out of me, as I got hung up on the wrong girls -- first the very, very wrong girls, and then the right wrong girls. The very wrong girls were the girls I lusted after, the ones who, true to high school cliches, wouldn't give me the time of day (so to speak) and it didn't help my case that I was as socially awkward as they come. The right wrong girls were the ones who were "my type," ones I had something in common with, to whom I could relate, but still didn't want me that way, because of their own business (or because, despite my improving ability to interact socially, I was still a bit of a creeper.) I'm a very different person than I was then, yet I still remain largely clueless about women. Maybe it's because I overthink it (let me think about that one for a while.) Pressed by Robyn for reasons as to why I'm still in the situation I am, I could only turn my face away from her and sigh to myself, "Because I'm a coward." And that's probably part of it but not the whole thing. It's complicated. I'm a complicated dude and I deserve complicated neuroses.

Of the small handful of women who have ever wanted me that way, two were already in relationships when they admitted it to me, and one never admitted it but we proceeded as though it was a foregone conclusion, until we were both so incompetent it became something of a romantic write-off and we now pretend like it never happened, because I guess it didn't. To my knowledge, I have never been wanted by someone I wouldn't have been willing to try going out with. Amongst the girls who want to be my friend but not date me, I think the consensus is that someone should want to be with me, but not them. The words "you're a catch" have been ringing in my ears (with all due respect to the one/s who said them.) I'd rather think I was an asshole. It would fit the facts so much better.

I talk about it a lot, I analyze. I don't cry about it the way I did when I was in high school. Shit happens in its own time and I do try, to the extent I feel comfortable, and for the results that I've been getting, so be it. I remember a conversation I was having with Cary, about why relationship problems dominate the themes of my plays. "It's because, what else do people our age have to care about? We're not the ones who get to have big important jobs, not yet. We don't have the weight of the world on our shoulders. This is it. All we have is our relationships." That, and trying to prepare ourselves for the future, and to some extent, the relationship is part of that. It's the extent of what is within my control, and even that is way beyond me.

It was the last of my schoolboy crushes. I think every girl who has come along since then has had a different context from before. No more romanticizing, no more admiring from afar. I was afraid to approach her, to break the illusion, but I did, and I got a friend with whom I remain, if not close, at least around. Since then, my MO has been to break through and see what happens.

I remember the first time I saw her. It was the first day of school and we were arriving late to the same class from opposite ends of the hallway. She struck me a way few had before or since. I didn't say anything to her for a while, but I felt like I absolutely had to get to know her. So what started as an anonymous attraction from afar became a very good friendship. And I omit her name because I suspect she would find it startling to find that, even for an instant, I would entertain those notions toward her, even though I didn't know her, and I think that way about, well, virtually every anonymous female the first time I see them. In fact, it's a very similar scenario to the one that brought me to Vasa nearly five years later. And the outcome was very much the same.

The weekend, except for the computer chaos, has been rather mundane. I'm still on the borrowed laptop, but I am now in possession of a portable hard drive that contains all of my precious, precious files, thanks to dad. So that's settled, all I have to do is buy a new computer. For a while I was considering a new laptop, because it seems logical that if you're going to get a new computer, and you're a student and you commute, why not a laptop?

Then I decided, well, for the same reason as always why not a laptop. Don't need, don't particularly want. It's just gonna sit on my desk anyway. I'd have a laptop as a supplement to my regular computer, but I don't love those things on their own.

Aw, now I feel like I've offended my new laptop buddy on whom I am typing. Sorry guy, you've been very accommodating, but I don't see it working out long-term. I hope you'll understand. If it's meant to be, it'll be.

I sleepwalked through my first permanent employee, post-temp shift today with Matt, Gus and Andrew. This is the first job I've had in a long time that resembles something permanent (in that it is permanent.) The last time I had a job that I did not know an exact end date for was Tim Hortons, for whom I worked two shifts in September 2006! Since then it's been Halloween kiosk (prematurely ended) various HMV Holiday stints and one summer job that ended less than halfway through the summer. Go figure.

Just re-affirms my belief that this is where I belong. It may not be with the people I belong with, but it's where I've gotta be. The rest will fall into place.

Keep on rockin
-Scott