mission

This blog is largely here for my benefit, so I think it fitting to at least attempt a post regarding my mission before I actually go on it!
A few weeks ago, I received my call to go to the Philadelphia, Pennsylvania mission.
This blog is a place of frankness (and also trying to put unfathomable emotions into words), so, to be very frank, I was extremely surprised and confused to discover that I wouldn't be learning a new language. My patriarchal blessing just kind of hinted at it heavily is all, I guess, and I sort of went in with this idea that I'd be one of those guys who, well, wouldn't be going on a stateside mission, or at least somewhere where I would have to learn spanish. But it doesn't really matter, and I have no intention to shake my fist at the heavens or what have you, because, as cliche as it is, I'm perfectly happy to just go where I'm called. In fact, just unload all of the missionary cliches right here, and that's just about how I feel. I love the gospel and I think everyone deserves the opportunity to have it. I crave adventure. I'm ready for the refiner's fire. If I put my fate in God's hands, everything will go better than it possibly could otherwise.
Something about those cliches used to bother me. All I can imagine is that I must not have found them genuine when talked about by others. It must have been very difficult for me to believe that someone else could be as passionate as I can be with something. I must have looked through my eyes and just seen countless people going through the motions of a happy life, and feeling nothing, missing the most important and fruitful parts. Well, I don't doubt completely that there are people like that. But certainly not everyone, you know? And it's not as though I can claim to have been emotionally aware forever either. There are many things that prompted me to commit myself to think about my actions and reactions. But one of the best things this awareness affords me is the ability to realize that I'm not special in this way, that it's ridiculous to think that I'm the only passionate, genuine, self-improving person who is alive. To be honest though, I'm not even that either. I make mistakes, and I lose control, and I sometimes act before I think. I still have a ways to go before I'd consider myself worthy of spending my life with someone. I know that a mission will prepare me for that better than any other experience available to me. Two years outside of my current comfort zone!
It's another cliche, but I believe that every young man should serve a mission, or at least do something equally as demanding. Well, unless they're not planning on starting a family. Or getting a serious career, for that matter. I'm almost completely certain that if I don't serve this mission, I'm going to end up nowhere. Don't call it a lack of self-esteem... just call it humility, I guess. A broken heart, really, even a contrite spirit. My experiences have done a wonderful job of teaching me that I cannot trust in the arm of flesh and expect to end up happy. People will lie to you, or change their minds, or say things they don't mean, or make decisions that hurt you more than it helps them. People, and the world, are blatantly inconsistent. But, well, you know where this is going; you can put your full trust and faith in God, and He will give you everything for it.

I also wanted to take the time to list the changes I'd like to see in myself in two years.

I want to be more responsible.
I want to be less awkward.
I want to be more tactful and respectful.
I want to be more healthy.
I want to gain a sense of my self-worth.
I want to gain a sense of the worth of others.
I want to broaden my point of view, becoming able to see things from another person's eyes as well as in a non-subjective way.
I want to get some muscles! The body is an important part of myself too!
I want to be able to make myself read and write more.
I want to gain a more substantial testimony of the gospel.
I want to learn to cook a few basic dishes so that I'm not worthless in the kitchen.
I want to pick up an accent. Why not? Accents are very distinguishing.
I want to improve my hygiene habits.
I want to emphasize the old-fashioned side of my personality. I'll be a super obnoxious dad someday!
I want to stir up my passion towards friends and acquaintances. Maybe hold on to more than two or three at a time for once!
I want to be more adventurous. Try new foods, talk to people I don't know; I wonder if they allow missionaries to ice skate? I've also always wanted to windsurf, but that wouldn't be until after my mission.

I'll definitely think of more than this, but I like the list as it is so far.

The Story of Cora

Cora is beautiful. There's no other way to put it. She has a wonderful, sleek, curvaceous body, and a perfect voice to match it. There may be millions of others out there just like her, maybe a handful that are completely identical to her. I know this for a fact. But Cora is special to me. This may be the only thing that truly sets her apart from the others, but to me, it's more than enough; Cora is mine.
Of everyone that I'm acquainted with, I can rely on nobody more than I can rely on Cora. No matter how long I leave her alone, no matter the time of the year, I can come back to her, hold her in my arms, stroke her gently, and she'll sound the same as she did the last time we played together. It's hard to describe how remarkable that is to me.
I wish I knew her better, though. It pains me to say, but for how magnificent Cora is, I have neglected our time together far too much. I've vowed to change that fact, and I can only hope she'll remain as patient with me as she has in the past, as our one-year anniversary steadily approaches.

Cora arrived at my house on the 25th of February, 2011, around 10am. An early birthday present.
After some dispute over her unprecedented arrival with my mother, I was finally allowed to remove her from her over-sized box. It was love at first sight.

Cora is a pristine, shimmering and sparkling silver-bodied Ibanez brand electric guitar. She's a bit on the heavy side, even for electrics, but that's part of what makes her have such a beautiful sound. It's more than the vibration of the strings; there's a certain resonance that takes place inside of her whenever a chord is struck. And it's heavenly.

I was first interested in playing the guitar back in middle school. For a while, I'd borrowed one from my uncle. A Fender Strat (basically the first thing you imagine when someone says "electric guitar"). He said I could keep it if I got good at it, but, big surprise, I barely picked it up.
Back then my interest was probably due to the fact that I wanted to depict myself as ridiculously romantic as possible. On top of my only electives being French and ballroom, I aspired to walk about the school with the guitar strapped to my back, able at any time to pull it around and start serenading some lucky lady. One day, I actually did bring the Fender to school, with the excuse that I was having it tuned by the music teacher, but I was obviously just trying to show off. I don't think anyone was impressed.
The appointed time arrived and I, without much reluctance, said goodbye to the ugly thing. My uncle has since given it to his daughter, who is taking much better care of it than I did.
A few years later, my desire to play a musical instrument resurfaced. This time it wasn't about being romantic. It was about being good at something, having a talent, and understanding an art form; or even, dare I say, learning another language. For a time, it was a viola that I wanted. Something elegant, and deep, something unique, something that can strangle and knot up someone's heart-strings whenever it's played. But they're too expensive, and probably too advanced for my untrained fingers. Besides, and although this is contrary to my own experience, music isn't just about communicating an indecipherable feeling of unfathomable yearning.
One day, I was talking to a friend of mine that I was currently having a bit of a fling with. (I put it that way to make it sound silly and fun, but in reality it was a very difficult and emotional experience. In what insane world wouldn't it be?) Somehow, the subject of me wanting to learn an instrument, possibly the guitar, came up. Out of what was apparently a strong desire to see me happy and help me follow my dreams, she promised to buy me one. A really good one.
The way she tells it, she was at a pawn shop when she saw her. The perfect guitar for me, and, if I remember correctly, even relatively inexpensive.
After I unwrapped her, I held Cora to my chest, and may have even kissed her neck in the heat of the moment. I took a couple of pictures of me holding her, and boy did we ever look like the perfect pair. There really was no question; she was my guitar. Always had been and always will be.
But not everything started out perfect. She needed tuning, naturally. Even if she'd been tuned after the purchase, there was the change in climate and altitude to consider. After that, though, she and I hit a major snag in our getting acquainted. The bottom two strings had a tendency to buzz against the frets ahead of the ones I pressed on.
I tried to ignore it and just keep learning. After all, I had no idea what the expense would be for fixing the issue. But while I was practicing with my friend, who had graciously dug up his dad's acoustic and an old lesson book, it started getting on my nerves. He, I, and another friend of mine immediately set out to find the nearest establishment that would be able to adjust poor Cora, crossing our fingers that it wouldn't cost me an arm and a leg.
We found a place that wasn't too far downtown that, to put it lightly, specialized in guitars. I find it odd that this fascinated me so much, but seeing the guitars (which, by the way, had been created on a table near the front of the store) lining the walls was almost like stepping into a greenhouse full of exotic and unique plants, or even that room in the hospital where all the babies are put on display after being born. Hundreds of quiet, beautiful babies, just waiting to be picked up and taken home, waiting to sing.
An old man with long, white, wavy hair greeted us. This man, whoever he was, Kevin or something, was clearly a weathered master of his trade. His lean body and mildly wrinkled visage told a tale of a life of devotion to the guitar and its every aspect, and it was plain that this tale was far from ending. If there had been any doubt after just looking at this man, this guitar guru, that he was the go-to guy for any guitar-related issue, it was immediately swept away by what he spoke next: "What've ya got there, an Ibanez?"
For as long as I could have been without allowing the pause to become awkward, I was dumbstruck. Cora was still in her carrying-bag on my back, her beautiful shape hidden by a more generic one. No normal human being could have known her brand with the amount of evidence available. My response to his question probably sounded really dumb, but it was something to the effect of, "Spooky you should say that, because that's exactly right."
(Today, I'm willing to believe that it was just a lucky guess. Ibanez is a rightfully popular brand of electric guitar. Or maybe I just struck him as an Ibanez kind of guy. I'll probably never know for sure, but I'm content with believing in magic for now.)
I described the problem as best I could, and he repeated it back to me using proper guitar terminology, to show that he knew what I meant. He also said that it was an easy problem to fix and that he'd do it for free. A bit thrilled, I consented to leaving Cora at the shop with some contact information so that I could come and pick her up when the adjustments were finished. One of my friends took a complimentary pick (the one I still use) and gave it to me, and then the three of us left, myself chattering wildly about how awesome the whole store and that man was.
The weekend passed. I still hadn't heard from the shop, and so, with my concern for Cora uncontainable, I resolved to walk down there and check on her.
I was only a bit relieved to see her still in her bag, stood against the corner behind the register. It appeared as though the master hadn't yet had the time to work on her, and that he wasn't in the shop at the moment. I talked to the available employee, who was also clearly a guitar player, but not in the same league as the old man.
He explained that he'd seen my guitar there, but didn't know what needed to be done since there weren't any instructions left and the old man was out. I repeated the problem to him, thinking that perhaps he'd be able to do it just as well, but I was extremely dismayed when he summed up the necessary process as a "twenty-four dollar thing". My mood was so shaken that I didn't have the will necessary to inform him that the old man had promised it for free. This was his shop now, his domain, and who was I to protest? What was my knowledge of guitars compared to his? Once I'm as good as him and have his job, I can be the one to make unnecessary charges to people who don't know any better. I might have that option some day, but I know I'm too nice a man to take it.
Not only was he clearly trying to take advantage of my lack of experience, but when he pulled out Cora to verify my words, he started playing her right in front of me (on the twelfth frets to avoid the issue), demonstrating his expertise and superiority. My face didn't show it (I hope), but I felt almost as indignant as I would if I saw someone giving my girlfriend a non-professional massage, coaxing noises of enjoyment and pleasure out of her. I refused the service and asked for my guitar back. He packed her into her bag, and, on top of all the other things he'd done, nonchalantly moved the zippers to the bottom, probably hoping that she would slip out on my way home and that I'd be required to come back for repairs far more dire and expensive.
I haven't set foot in there since.
On my way home, an acquaintance recognized me and drove me the rest of the way, giving me a chance to talk a bit about Cora. It was a good conversation, and while I don't remember what it consisted of, I get the feeling that I needed to have it.
I didn't wonder for very long on what my next move should be. I'm extremely privileged in that several members of my family are at least acquainted with musical instruments, a few of them even experts on them. I talked to my cousin about having her father, my uncle (different uncle than the Fender one), coming over and seeing what he could do with it. Not too much later in the week, their little family showed up at my house. My uncle had some tools, and my cousin brought her amp so we could check on the electrics.
I wasn't watching him too closely, but I swear it didn't take him more than five minutes of tinkering before the problem was fixed. We plugged her in to see if there were any internal issues, and she sounded divine. My uncle played on her a bit (which I was still just a tad uncomfortable with), packed everything up, and they went home.
For about an hour, I held Cora in my arms like a lover.

Having overcome a major obstacle in our path, I've done my best to practice with Cora using the internet and photocopies of my friend's lesson book. (He himself had left for his mission soon after the whole fiasco.) It's been what you might expect from a relationship between a novice self-taught musician and his only instrument that was a gift to him; that is to say, on and off. But I can safely say that she and I get to know each other better and better every time I pick her up.
I'm even starting to believe that I might have been born to play the guitar, if I may be so bold. Not only is my left index finger slightly longer than the right one, but whenever I play a song, I can't help but feel that I'm getting closer to becoming the person I was meant to become.

it doesn't work that way

Imagine two tribes of diverse origin, each settling in a very different climate from the other. I'll call them the Ites and the Lings.
The Ites, for some reason, settle in a very dry climate with hot days and cold nights. The only source of water is a well, which the village is built around.
I actually wonder why I felt like I wanted to elaborate so much on a metaphor that doesn't need more than abstract description, but for the sake of symmetry the Lings are also a tribe of idiots that settle in a marsh.
The point is, they both have problems, and I can imagine that they would be able to develop all kinds of ways to solve them on their own, despite the absolutely bogus places they chose. Maybe they didn't have a choice. They could either live with it, or brave the wilderness again to try to find something better. For whatever reason, at least enough Ites/Lings weren't for packing up and leaving, for at least long enough to make it a place that could actually be called a village. It's called "settling". I assume it's called that for a reason. This wasn't the original point I wanted to make, but why not explore the subject since I'm on it?
No, it isn't relevant to me right now, but settling. It has a different actual definition, but with the negative connotation attached, it basically means to stick with something even though there's probably something better out there. I don't really have anything else to say about it, but the connection is still kind of cool I guess. That wasn't very much exploration.
And, well, I don't really feel like making a point either. I wanted to say that these two tribes can get on just fine on their own, but their way of life would be enhanced by the discoveries and technologies of the other, and then naturally segue into talking about relationships and why they're nice to have. But I'm not really anybody to be talking about that.
I haven't felt like proving it, but I could go at least a week without getting a word from anyone with a few very special exceptions. Although there is the dentist's office. They call to remind me of appointments. They don't need to, I remember them all pretty easily seeing as how it's pretty much the only scheduled event I've been having for I don't even want to know how long. And well, to be honest, it's just her, isn't it? And the friends she's involved with. It's like I don't exist anymore. It's like someone thought to themselves, "Hey, I don't think the universe has demonstrated quite enough times that Levi is not a 'group person', and might be better described as 'the ultimate wallflower' or 'the guy that isn't special until you start actually talking to him for a while and good luck with that because if he talks to you first he'll feel like a pest'" and then whoa it happens. I would like to find this person and have a conversation with them about all these delusions of social ostracization I'm having, and how they are related to my rapidly vanishing self-confidence.
And then the smallest voice keeps telling me that it's all temporary. I completely believe it.
But I just remembered what is probably going to slowly rise up as the most important feeling I've developed in this stage of my life.
Recently my mom told me about a business, um, excursion. It was like a convention for accountants. There was a motivational speaker, some presentations on new software or something, and even a social dance. She enjoyed going and told me all about it, but the part that stuck out the most to me was the dance. The way she put it, she really wanted to go out there and at least moonwalk, but she just felt so inhibited. When she described that event to me, I'd never felt more connected to her. That's when I started to realize that I was definitely her son.
There have been very few exceptions to this; provided that I even bother showing up at a dance, odds are, I'm not comfortable out on the floor. I have taken classes in dancing (so has my mom, in fact), so one might think that I could derive something from that, but it doesn't work that way. I learned moves and routines. I didn't learn to improvise.
I've left this post sitting incomplete too long to remember where I was going with it. But it probably had something to do with my mom's love life. She likes a guy that doesn't have the right standards. He's giving her mixed messages pretty much constantly. Reminds me of my own situation. That's all.

happy eventually

And then some time passed.
Now I'm alone again. Or at least I feel like I'm alone. I know that I'm alone right now, besides an ever-present but extremely quiet being that holds my hope in its little cupped hands, watching it closely as it quivers with every step I take, no matter the direction. A cute kind of extremely quiet. Not even a little bit awkward. Like it knows that I know that it's there, and that it will always follow me, unless I'm doing something that makes it uncomfortable. It seems perfectly content to sit or stand there behind me and just be a nice little reminder that I know what I'm supposed to do if I want to be happy. Of course I want to be happy, what is that "if" all about?
I got my patriarchal blessing. Exciting, isn't it? Who am I asking? I'm just typing to empty air again, and if I'm not, I should pretend to.
It's not really that exciting. A better word would be "comforting". I already knew my path, I think. It's just nice to know that, hey, I guess I was right about it to begin with. Go on a mission and get married. Always have enough. Ephraim, by the way, and luckily I was ready to hear that. It's not like it makes me like everyone else at all, because clearly, I'm still way different. I don't have the transcript fresh on me right now, but I'm not supposed to share everything anyway. Even if this was totally private, I have it in my desk whenever I feel like I need to study it again.
When morning comes I'm going to be making another dentist appointment. Besides complacency, my teeth have proven to be the biggest obstacle between me and my mission (although the two are related in many ways), so I found a nearby dentist (like a block away) that accepts our insurance, and I've resolved to go as frequently as possible, which has turned out to be very frequent. My second appointment came a day after my first, and I had some major problems ripped out of my jaw, which unfortunately set me on the back-burner for about two weeks to heal up and let the antibiotics start kicking in. No complaints from me though (oh except I eat way slow now but that was always a thing with me anyway) because I just want to get it out of the way. No matter how quick, though, it's going to take up a lot of time.
Even after I turn in my papers, I have to wait for them to be processed, and after I get my call, I have to wait for the actual date to come around, which could take months depending on the circumstances. Really it's my own fault for putting it off so heavily. But would anyone believe me if I said the thing that distracted me the most is the thing that also motivated me the most?
Not thing. Person. Girl. Girl I love. She made me want to get on with my life so that I could be with her, and I knew that nothing happens until I go on my mission. The problem is that I still need to feel connected and intimate. Always so afraid to let go. That's me.
I don't know the exact reasons for her not wanting me to be around anymore. Suffocating, she said, but we used to be happy when we were close. I'm completely lost. I don't understand at all. She still loves me, but it hurts her whenever I'm talking to her. All I can think about is, what changed? What did I do wrong? Can't I fix it?
I know what I did wrong. I did things she told me not to do, because it felt right at the time. I demanded too much of her time, though she used to be so pleased to give entire days to me. Every time she said "Maybe we shouldn't be together after all," I felt so desperate, I knew that that was her taking steps away from me. I can't fix it. I can't do anything.
So I let it be. It's one of those things where trying just makes it worse. I can't explain it, because I don't understand it. I never want to be away from the people I love. Maybe I would eventually, but I wouldn't know, to be honest, since whatever limit I might have hasn't been reached. Or maybe it's that there really isn't anyone else in my life. Not even friends, really. I gave up even the smallest acquaintances who demanded nothing of me. And look at me now, here I am, alone. For a while there I had some people to play games with, but it kind of looks like that didn't mean all that much. And the people I could actually physically spend time with? Gone away, on missions and such. It's like there really isn't anything else for me to do except leave, and be sure to turn the lights off and shut the door on my way out. But before I do that, there is just so much cleaning up to do. And I'm going to do it alone.
At least I have an adventure to look forward to. An adventure long enough that I might even forget what things are usually like for me, which could only be a good thing. I'm going to meet so many new people and do lots of stuff that I haven't ever done before. I'm going to have short hair and I'll have to shave every day, and exercise, and do lots of walking and moving around. I'll probably gain a lot of weight from that, and the actual eating of substantial meals. I'll be getting so much stronger in a lot of ways. Even when I come home, nothing will be the same, and thank God for that.
Back when I knew that I would be alone for a long while, I thought to myself, hey, lots of time for doing stuff that you know you need to do. Practice guitar, read, write, go on walks and stuff. I've been reading a bit, but really, who am I to kid myself like that? I just don't have any motivation to do anything. I mean, I kind of do. It's not like she wants nothing to do with me, but thinking about it is really painful. I can't use it anymore. I'll strum a few chords, feel like I'm getting better at positioning my fingers, stare out the window, and then I'll just get sad. Think, My life's not over, but it sure isn't going anywhere for a while. Reading though, that's nice. It makes me forget. It makes me make myself stop thinking about it, because I can read and be thinking about something else, but then I realize I have no idea what I just read, so I have to do it again, and actually focus on it. Watching movies and shows is even better, because there's more in front of me. The situations portrayed are things I can relate to in some way (even the songs sometimes), and so, while I do get to think about it, I do so in a positive way.
But then there's times like this, and it's great that I'm writing about it, but otherwise I just can't get it out of my head that she doesn't want me around as much anymore. She tells me to go. She says goodbye. Granted that her stress is largely situational, but how else am I supposed to feel about that? I know she means it when she says she loves me and that she still has hopes for a future together, but here I am now, why do I have to be alone like this if that's how she feels? What can I do to fix it? There's really nothing. I can't even tell her how I feel, because that would hurt her. I can't let her know that I think about her constantly and that I miss spending time with her. She told me not to. She loves me, but when I think about it, she treats me like I'm just another guy. Maybe even less than that. After all the special things we shared; like none of it ever even happened.
She just wants to be unburdened right now. That's all I know for sure. But it used to make her happy to spend time with me. What changed. What did I do wrong. Can I fix it. I can't. Just leave it.
So time passed, and now I'm by myself. That hole is still there, and it's hard for me to tell if it managed to get even bigger. No good trying to figure that one out, what with not even knowing whether or not it's empty.
You know what though? I know I'm going to end up happy eventually. I'm going to look back to this time one day and think to myself, What was I even worried about? Why didn't I just look ahead and remember the vaguest details which were way more than enough to reassure me? God loves me, and as long as I don't reject that love, how could things possibly turn out badly? After this comparatively insignificant time of loneliness, I have an eternity of love and togetherness to look forward to. Yeah, I still hope it's her, and hopefully I'll be open to other ideas as well when the time comes, and that's going to be important, because I need to listen very carefully. There's a woman out there that will be perfect for me, and I'll be perfect for her. And I'd say "God willing", but I already know that He is.

Stubbornness

Sometimes I'm not sure what to do with myself at times. Wow, what do I do? I write, I guess.
What a great way to start a post. Good job with that.

Seriously though. There's been a lot going on, which is always the conclusion when I take the time to examine my life. It's a lot more eventful than I realize sometimes.
But the thing is, a lot of what's going on is just happening through conversations over the internet. It's weird to think how much of what seems relevant to me is something as minuscule as words on a screen, but here we are anyway.
To be fair, words can be only the surface on a great hill of context. This might be where I provide an example, but I know what I'm generally talking about here.
It's not the words, I guess. It's the reason you're reading them that really matters. Words come from a lot of places. They can be either read or heard (or both). They're just combinations of sounds, or letters representing certain sounds. Our culture is initially what gives any meaning to all these patterns. Our parents teach us first, and then we learn from everywhere else what all the noise means.
We can communicate at all, isn't that a bit of a miracle?
But before I start to sound more presumptuous than I already do, let's talk about the thing that actually matters. Things plural, maybe.
Isn't it interesting how education, the supposed expansion of our knowledge, can make us so close-minded about things? We're taught a certain way of things, and suddenly we believe that that way is the only way or at least the best way. I think we can extrapolate here and just say that there are many ways to reach many things. But then there's religion. Most of our religions state that there is only one way to achieve its prescribed reward. How could this possibly be correct? How can millions of people be expected to follow the exact same protocol for salvation or enlightenment? No matter how malleable the methods, it must certainly lock out a few people who are just unable to make the necessary psychological developments required of them. Maybe they're too stupid, maybe their instincts were affected in some way during their early childhood, maybe some kind of trauma drives them away from what would normally be a tantalizing spiritual experience. What if their mother didn't hug them enough? What if she hugged them too much? The root problem is that a lot of people don't realize that they're in complete control of themselves, or that they relinquished this control to some unseen inner force long ago. Why would anyone ever let go like that?
It's really one of the greatest tragedies in life, because it's one that doesn't have to happen. Sometimes two people will be completely incompatible with each other in every way! Something like that could only happen if both of them refuse to accept that they are a fluid concept, a persona that changes in interesting ways depending on what is around them. Not only that, but a stubborn individual is missing countless opportunities to become... BETTER, to put it simply. Not the best term, I guess. Who can really say who is better than another person, even if they're only separated by time? Are you better than you used to be just because people can stand to talk to you for five minutes, or if you do the dishes more often, or you are more generous with your money? You can. You're the one who says. Even though there doesn't seem to be a perfect answer, that's the closest we're getting.
This is a fascinating subject that I'd love to expand on, but I'm still dancing around the point.
(Hey thanks me a month ago! How am I supposed to remember what the point was if you never actually typed it down? It's okay. I can guess. Also you'll never read this anyway. Or you will... in a month from now as you're typing it. Darn, now I feel stupid. Sorry, self.)
I think the point was that I'm getting in to too much of this internet drama crap. How can I even be taking it all seriously? What is stopping me from just disconnecting myself for a while? I think the answer there is that I'm kind of pathetic in a way. I can put it plainly. These people need my help. If I wasn't there, who knows what kind of anarchy would be going on, what vicious cycles they would be going through? I give myself too much credit. I'm just so tangled up in all of this. Emotions are involved.
There's a girl who lives far away. After talking to her for awhile, telling her about myself and my experiences, even showing her this blog, she told me she loves me.
She said she'd give up on love if it couldn't be me. So young, and I took it seriously? She even sent me a wonderful gift that I'm going to be hard-pressed to return the sentiment for.
Here's the truth: I felt obligated. There was too much pressure. The thought of hurting her, the thought of seeming ungrateful; I just couldn't stand it.
Truly, if there was only one thing between me and the nature of God, it would be His ability to allow people to suffer temporarily. (Surely plenty more than that, but that's the big one.)
I can't just rush in somewhere believing that things will change for the better as I do so. I wrote earlier about the stubbornness of many people and things. The world won't change for you, no matter how hard you try to alter your perception. That would be my stubbornness, I guess. There were friends I couldn't ignore.
What happened? I just couldn't change. There are things about me that either aren't fluid anymore, or that I believe shouldn't be. I believe in loyalty between lovers, fidelity based on rules that can't be specified by the couple. Not even rules; it's just the way things are meant to be. You can't give all of yourself to more than one person. There is nothing in this world worth defying that law for, nor is it really possible to defy. Feel free to try, if you don't mind misery.
I ended it because everyone was miserable. Now things are better. I've learned that you can't force yourself to love someone; the idea is quite burnt into my brain now.
There is a girl that I love, and I should not have tried not to. I told her the truth, and it made both of us happy.

So selfish of me...

Okay, seriously. Something I really want to know.
Why do people bother with a temporary relationship?
What was I supposed to do?
Make it a self-fulfilling prophecy or something? That would have been stupid.
Make the most of it? That would have been selfish. Even though I sort of tried to do that. But only sort of. It's what I resolved to do, even though I never had the chance. People told me it was normal. What the heck is wrong with said people? They definitely don't know what they're talking about.
So what really happened? I rode it out.
I'm not stupid, so I'm not going to pretend that I couldn't have made it last longer. Anyone who ends up reading this, take it from me: As soon as you stop being amazing, you are giving them time to think about why they don't want to be with you. Whether or not this REALLY had anything to do with what happened with me, it's true.
That's what making the most of it means, right? Dragging it out for as long as possible? Man, did I fall short of that.
But right now, I have a devil of a toothache. I can't be expected to text someone for the better part of the day when I have to actually worry about making myself comfortable enough to not be in agony.
Let's be real, though.
I'll fess up to it. Despite my recent shortcomings probably having to do with it ending now of all times, I wasn't all that into it either. I just wanted someone, it didn't really matter who. It's really hard for me to admit to that. So selfish of me...
Should I tell myself that I should only be with a girl that I know I really love? After everything I've been through, will I even be able to recognize the feeling? I guess I could say that if I don't know for sure, it isn't it. I don't think I've felt real love before, but I'm confident that I'll recognize it like an old friend, should I ever find it.
I do need to keep an open mind, though. Do you realize how many lonely and beautiful women there are, all over the world? At least one of them probably thinks that I'm the best (and isn't also insane in some way)!

"My clever spunk"

Alright. Fine.
To make a short story even shorter, "Dream-Girl" as I called her, doesn't care about me. I don't know this for certain; how would anyone know anyway? But sometimes, it just hurts to hope.
You see, I think ladies have this dance programmed into them. When they like someone, they're NOT SURE about it. So they poke and prod and experiment. The most natural way to experiment is to merely test both sides of the water. What is this guy like when I'm flirting with him? What is he like when I'm totally rejecting his pathetic pleas for companionship? I hereby vow with the deepest rites of womanhood that this man will follow and dote upon me no matter how I treat him, whether it be leading him on or shooing him away, or by my holy feminine word he is not worthy!
Or some other completely retarded crap. Just HOW hardwired are they? Is it worth it to try and wait for a girl that isn't going to run tests on me? Some nice chick who won't immediately resort to treating me like a lab rat? All I want to know is if girls like that even exist.
And what about a girl who talks to me first? Someone with a little boldness, or surety. That would be awesome. Unfortunately that kind of thing too closely resembles the problem with time-travel; she would have appeared by now. Unless she just doesn't know I exist. That would be excusable.
But I guess it's worth it sometimes, to play their games. Believe me, a woman would have to be beyond amazing in order to escape that behavior.
With what's going on now it's kind of hard for me to say that it's more about me than it is about other people. And... I've recently discovered that it's not really like me to really care about myself anyway. It's something I conditioned myself to pretend to do in order to avoid depression. Every time I say something about myself, every time I play myself up, it's kind of more of a joke than actual annoying self-esteem. Take it from me, it works. I haven't been REALLY depressed since I started doing it. But I worry that I might be missing out on something, or that people don't ever get to see the real me. All they see is my clever spunk. For someone who's so preoccupied on the importance of being genuine, I sure can get phony sometimes. But... it kind of is me, I suppose. In the very least it's my own way of keeping myself afloat. Everybody has those, right? I could try to shed it off and see if I feel any more real, but that's a frightening thing to do.
Anyway. Let's see, I've complained about romance, delved into my own psychology (and I'm probably only kind of close to right about it), and promised myself progress. So I guess there's not much else to say here, is there?