"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?

"It gapes and gapes"

Have either of you, my "followers"--

Alright. Hi guys. Yeah, it looks like I'm not just typing out into empty air anymore. That's okay, you're both cool. And hello to anyone else who reads this anonymously. You're probably cool too. You know, I honestly didn't think that I'd get viewership. Especially this early on. I'll try my best to keep typing like I'm doing it for therapy.
Anyways.

Have either of you ever had time slow down to a crawl? You know, where before something major happened or a project began, your days seemed to be going by far too quickly, you felt as though wasting time was as simple as wandering off into the internet, reading random stuff, even staring into space, when boom, something happens and suddenly it's all comparatively in slow motion. It's a little bit exhausting. I'm not entirely sure humans were designed to live moment after moment of their entire lives; it's a very smothering feeling.
One of the times this happened to me was during a winterim project, where the class produced a film. It only lasted two weeks, but looking back, I remember more from those two weeks than I remember from any other random four months of my life. This was an awesome experience. Even though time slowed to a crawl, I was filled with feelings of accomplishment as we progressed. And despite that I was only the male lead and the director of photography, I count that ten minute film among the greatest things that I was involved in producing.
It's been a similar experience with the musical I was just in. I loved every single long minute of it, and I wish it didn't have to end, but at the same time I'm glad that I get to move on to new things.
But really, to what? I'd written all of that a few weeks ago.
I feel like I'm standing at a major crossroads, looking down each way, but not moving. Just standing there, like I'm waiting for something to happen. I doubt that any path will take me somewhere I don't want to be, but how can I be sure there's a destination anyway? It's perfectly possible that someone paved a road for the sake of having a paved road. I don't want to work for the rest of my life. I don't want to work for any of my life, for that matter. And what about the paths that I can't see? The ones that have no signs and no trails, but still lead somewhere great?
Little of this seems to matter, though. I have nothing to work for. I have very little to offer the world; in fact I've discovered that we have so much content that perhaps spending the rest of my life consuming it would benefit me even more. Like I wrote before, none of my skills are practical in this day and age. I have a desire to learn an instrument, but those are expensive and I have no idea how serious I am about wanting to play. I would just love to work in a bookstore, but where have they gone, anyway?
And even littler of that seems to matter. This hole, the aforementioned hole in my existence, gapes on. It gapes and gapes, and I have utterly failed to ignore it. I have purposefully stumbled in it at least twice by now and made certain that it doesn't seal itself up. If anyone has seen me happy, it is because something enabled me to be distracted from it.
I'm starting to think that the only reason I reach out like I do is because I'm trying to prove to myself that I am indeed worth whatever wait or other such nonsense. I'm going to stop that immediately, and if love happens, great, but I'm done trying to force it.

"Selfishly Selfless"

I used to take ballroom dance. I hated the class, but I enjoyed dancing. It wasn't the proximity to female bodies, it was... just something about learning how to move in a way that was artistic. I was a complete natural, and I only started getting really good when I stopped trying to think so hard about what I was doing.
Anyways, I stopped after four years. Why? Well, there's just something about being around girls and exerting myself physically that makes me sweat. And apparently there's this cultural rule that says that sweat is repulsive. (I haven't done a full investigation, but it seems to be a States-born ideology. The French have absolutely no problem with it.)
Basically I started hating myself every time I went to the class. Girls avoided dancing with me, pretty blatantly. There were one or two that didn't seem to mind so much, or were good at hiding it. So close to the end of my sophomore year, I just stopped going. I didn't need the class for any credits or anything, I was just in it because I thought I wanted to be.
But hey. It turns out that the one major issue in doing art that requires other people, is that it requires other people. And you'd be lucky to find a partner that's as serious about the art as you are.

So I traded it out for martial arts. I can honestly say that that was the best decision I have ever made in my entire life. While my hygiene issues were still apparent in that environment, the other students didn't really seem to care. They were serious about what they were doing, and they were having fun with it. (It might also have something to do with the fact that they were adults; I was the youngest student out of every one of them, even the ones I never met.)
Martial arts fulfilled every need for artistic movement that dancing had, and then some. I learned how to stand properly, how to punch properly, how to hurt people when they tried to punch me, and every day I felt more and more powerful. It was all so practical and invigorating, and even though nearly everyone in the school was capable of killing me with their bare hands, they were all extremely friendly. I loved it.
So why did I stop? It was expensive, and I was busy. And to be honest, going to the class was difficult. I would go straight there after school, and I wouldn't get home until around ten. When you're me, you need time every single day for "whatever". I felt as though I had completely lost those days.

I was busy with theatre. (Yes, I always spell it that way.) Not professional theatre, just school stuff. Drama class stuff.
At that time I was rehearsing for Guys & Dolls. I was Benny Southstreet, which was okay. Every day I was there I knew I wouldn't have made the cut if I hadn't moved to such a small school. Everyone who auditioned was given a part. We might have even been short a few roles.
Theatre became more important than anything, and it felt good that way. There were still days where I didn't get home until late, but I was fine with it, because I was benefiting an entire cast, a whole production, by being there. Not just myself.

...I guess she was right. Feeling necessary is important to me. (And blast it all. I was trying to write an entire post without mentioning her.)

(I was GOING to write about how last night the cast for the musical I'm currently in started practicing dance routines and how it really takes me back and makes me think about this stuff, but once again, all I've managed to do is prove that I can't get Dream-Girl, and everything she's said to me, out of my head.)

So what does that mean? That I'm selfishly selfless? This must be why I hate thinking about my raison d'être. And the worst part is, the moment the last performance of this musical ends, I'll be forced to find another one.

So, alright. I'll level with my friends. I'm kind, sensitive, intelligent, talented, sincere, (relentlessly) honest, and not that bad looking. Now can somebody finally tell me what is so very wrong with me?

"She's taken me to a different world."

As recently as two weeks ago, I was living in a state of "Carry on, you hopeless romantic". I was happy. I had things to do. Games to play, shows to watch, art to produce, friends to spend time with. Everything was fine, except for my total lack and absolutely no sign of a significant other.
In that sense, I was a bit of a wreck on the inside. Whenever a friend would tell me that someday women would be coming to me and beg for marriage, I would angrily deny it. They would say I have charm, that I'm nice, smart, good-looking, accuse me of ignoring girls who liked me, and to be honest, all I felt was patronized. I still don't really believe them, but I'm beginning to accept the possibility that they were being sincere.
And alright. There is one girl who likes me, but she lives in Australia and is way too mainstream and blonde for my tastes. Honestly, why someone like her likes someone like me is way beyond my understanding. I mean, while I don't really believe in incompatibility, it just screams "I don't really know you and I see you how I want to see you and what I see is something I like". Normally I'm not annoyed by things people do, but she needs to grow up a bit.

Anyways, this Dream-Girl has seriously changed things. Without trying, she's taken me to a different world. In this world, she matters more than anything else. Her occupation in my mind has made me think so hard about everything I do; it's kept me from eating, given me strange dreams, and prevented me from... doing things that make me hate myself. Besides the sudden lack of nutrient intake, I feel a lot more motivated to take care of myself and transform into the sort of person that I can stand to be. I do my laundry, I brush my teeth, I shower, I've written in this blog more frequently, because thinking of her forces me to look at myself and ask, "Are you the sort of person who deserves to have their dreams come true?" (I know I'm using that word a lot, but seriously. She's as intelligent as she is beautiful, and as kind as she is both of those put together. Even establishing communication with her seemed pretty radical.)

Alright. Five and a half hours went by. And I talked to her. Over facebook chat, but still.
It turns out that there is indeed a crisis. One dire enough for her to decide that now is not the time for romance. Contextual hot chocolate is postponed, if it ever does happen.

It's strange. I completely believed her when she said it. Only now is it starting to cross my mind that maybe she's just letting me down easy.
But no, it couldn't be. I would've been able to tell. I think.
I mean, I know that I've been way beyond weird with her, but she's weird, right? I don't know. What does weird even mean anymore? And why can't I stop being it?

Anyways, above the noise of my mind arguing with itself over whether this was a gain or a loss, there's a much more resolved part telling me that no matter what happens, I'll be fine, and what's supposed to happen WILL happen, even if God has to descend from his throne and visit Earth to make it so. It reassures me that I've done everything I can, and everything I've done has been the right thing.

But... Now what? Am I just supposed to wait? She promised me that she would live through it, and I told her I would wait.
I also told her that no matter what happened, I would be able to carry on. That is the complete truth. But is being so relentlessly honest really such a good idea?

"Contextual Hot Chocolate"

While I normally wait for the results of something before I report on it, I'm going to continue doing that and take this time to muse about the anxiety that one experiences whilst in the uncertain stages of romance.
It would be no more a secret than this blog that I'm referring to dream-girl-who-gave-me-her-number. With that context, I'll move on.
It's very difficult to break off and do something else when you're waiting for a response. What's especially frustrating is when you send a message directly to their phone, which you could only assume is currently on their person, and they still don't answer back. I'm not complaining, it's just that I want to remind myself in case I forget how scary that can be.
Hour after hour I worry that I might have ruined something, said something wrong, revealed too much, showed too much or too little interest, that I've made some kind of irreversible mistake that makes her decide that I'm weird, that I'm pathetic, that my intentions aren't pure, that in some way I'm not worth her time. All I can really ask for is one date, but I'm so afraid that if I push too hard, she'll leave me alone, or that if I don't push hard enough, I'll miss an opportunity.
Naturally (albeit metaphorically) I've been holding myself in my arms and telling myself that I'll be okay no matter what happens, but until she answers, I can't tell myself which okay I'll be.

Is it okay to pray about this kind of stuff? I guess it's okay to at least ask for comfort.

It's almost like I completely forgot everything I thought I learned from my past mistakes.

Anyways, apparently the presumed event is coffee. Whatever that means. Lately I've been calling it "contextual hot chocolate" because I won't be drinking coffee, but it won't just be hot chocolate for me. It will be "I'm totally on a date with my dream girl" hot chocolate. But that's too long a name, so I just shortened it to contextual.

...I'm gonna call her right now.

Oh heh. Turns out she just got out of the hospital. I didn't ask her what happened. But in that case I guess it's okay for her to not be so responsive and such.

Why is it always something like this? My life seems to slow down around these moments where it's like the world could tip over.

Have I arrived in the middle of a crisis or something? Am I supposed to be some kind of hero? I feel like I should really call her again, but I kind of need to get going.

...I'll do it.

"I just want a female version of myself"

It's been a while since I've posted (not that anybody besides me could possibly care), and even though I don't really have anything in mind, I'm just gonna post anyway. Let my fingers fly, as it were. Actually, that's how it usually goes for me.

Back in the day I used to have this complaint that would go something like, "how cold my bed is," basically to iterate how lonely I felt. It's remained unshared, I think, mostly because honestly, I should expect my bed to be cold while I'm still a teenager. Recently it started cropping up again in my mind, because the weather is starting to go in that direction and my windows are still open a crack. I can't remember what I thought during these times when I was with someone, perhaps, "Oh I wish so-and-so was here so I would have a warm bed and sleep easier," but I don't remember ever thinking or saying that. That being said, the point isn't the temperature. It's the lack of a warm body on my bed before me.
I have no idea what would make me complain about not having something I'm not entitled to, but I think it might have something to do with how I tried to depict myself as one of those lonely romantic types, the kind that dreams of love and just waits for it to happen, which it sort of did in the form of numerous obvious opportunities presenting themselves to me.

Gall, is that ever gonna happen again? First it was all like "oh we started talking and I was like 'you're beautiful' and she was like 'no way wanna be a thing' and I was like 'sure yeah let's do it even though you're like two years older than me lol'" and then "'oh we're both in a relationship, WELL NOT ANYMORE' 'LOL let's make out'" which didn't turn out well so then "'oh thank goodness you called wanna be my rebound girl?' 'lol sure'" and that was ill-conceived so I was alone for a while and then it was like "'hey levi wanna come over so I can lay on your shoulder and then be really hesitant about holding hands with you?' 'lol sure sounds fun'". Indeed, terrible reductions of really dramatic periods of my life, but that's essentially what it was in contrast with what I'm beginning to think is TRUE love. I'm starting to realize that the only real reason I was with those girls is because they liked me, which I remain to this day convinced that that is a rare quality that needs to be treasured and rewarded.
But there are more important things to watch out for besides them liking me. Yes, that's unarguably one of the most vital traits the chosen one should have, and them not having it is probably going to be very discouraging (which is good, I guess), but I get the feeling that I deserve to be at least a teeny bit more specific than that.

I think that in my first post I said something about not having a say in what she's like, but while I'm in the mood to look at myself as a human being, let's just see what I come up with, shall we?

She needs to be intelligent. I won't have myself living with a woman that can't spell. I need to be able to have REAL conversations with her, the kind that delve into the meatier part of the human psyche where we discover things not only about each other, but about ourselves as well. But at the same time she should know when words simply don't suit the situation, she needs to know that there are times when silence says everything that needs to be said, or that expressions and physical interactions are more than enough to communicate. That being said, I don't want her to be passive aggressive. "I shouldn't have to tell you," is probably the most sickening combination of words that a woman can ever say to her husband. She needs to be able to accept that I will have a lot of non-psychic moments where I don't know exactly how to please her, and that if I did somehow know what she wanted, then indeed, she wouldn't have to ask for it. Since my ultimate goal in this life would be to please her, I don't think it would be too much for me to want that to be hers as well. (Naturally I don't mean "her ultimate goal in life is to please herself" because... that's just being smart-alecky. But sometimes I don't doubt that a girl's mind can work in that direction.) I'd really prefer someone who plays video games, but not the God-of-War kind of video games.
Okay, there's more, but, really, as I go on, it's starting to look like I just want a female version of myself. I guess it's sort of... natural...? I'm afraid that if I get anything more or less then I'll feel like I didn't get what I deserve. That makes sense.
But... what if she just happens to be different from me? What if I just happen to fall in love with and marry someone who constantly listens to music? What if she thinks that playing video games can be classified as a "habit"? What if she's one of those all-too-common psycho housewives who poison themselves with aspartame?
What am I supposed to do if I don't REALLY love my wife? Well, I suppose I shouldn't have married her in the first place, but this thought-string has really shown me the importance of really thinking about these things.
But... I'm not really a solid concept. People can change, and I'm certainly no exception. In the past I have changed my fundamental wants (and sometimes even needs) in order to make myself more compatible with whoever I was with at the time.
So... the natural conclusion is that, if I don't miraculously find my soft-cover edition (marking this as "book metaphor" in case I forget somehow), I should try to go for someone better than me, so that I improve myself in order to be more compatible with them.

And actually, speaking of girls who are better than me, one GAVE me their phone number recently. Gave. As in I didn't ask for it. That's a good sign, right? I should probably call her, but it's been like a week since she did it. I have texted her (using my email because I'm an ancient civilization), but she only answered a couple times. It's been causing me a lot of excitement lately, both good and bad. At this point, being so long without any word, it's definitely turned sour on me, but I hope I'm just being paranoid. I feel like I'm floating with a huge weight on my shoulders. Really strange.

"It's because I think I'm pathetic."

I decided to record audio instead of typing. I got some really good thinking done.
Here it is.

Afterthought: It's both a pain to download and a pain to listen to (being half an hour long) so to sum it up, I ramble about this and that and come to the inspired conclusion that the reason I'm not in a relationship isn't because I think it's cruel to make someone wait two years for me, it's because I don't think I'm worth waiting for.

"Without that belief, there is no hope for me."

This blog is here so I can get things off my chest. It's probable that nobody will read these things except for me.
Writing is an important exercise, especially for me. I don't do it enough, and what I have written has been pretty good. I'm a natural, but even talents you seem to have been born with can atrophy. I have a lot of those, actually. Natural talents. I'm good at a lot of things. Probably more than I know. Unfortunately most of my talents aren't "useful" in the job market. I'm not good at monotonous things like counting change or memorizing inventories or retaining memories of events (although recently...). I'm better at things like professional dance, martial arts, other athletic activities (sports don't seem to hold my interest, however), video games, acting and singing on stage, and why not shamelessly use this opportunity to bring this tangent back home by mentioning writing.
I used to be reminded often to keep a journal. It's sort of a religious thing, so it didn't interest me much. I love God and I'm devout in my belief that He exists and knows all and loves all, but, probably because I was born into the church and take it for granted, I don't seem to be overly concerned with things like reading the scriptures and, to be perfectly honest (without shame because probably nobody will see this), going to regular meetings every Sunday. Instead I dress up, take my scriptures up the river trail, and read as much as I can before heading home around four. Seems contradictory with my earlier statement, yes, but it's a work in progress. (Again, this is a private blog, so I can excuse my own haphazard trail of thought that I feel coming on.) The reason for my nonattendance is because... well... I just don't like the people at church. I feel that they don't like me either, and this must be at least half true.
My hair is long. That's probably the first thing people notice about me. I like it that way, I think I look awesome (on good days). For some reason, in this little area that they call "Happy Valley" (both sarcastically and not), long hair on a male is a social sin. I'm a definitive outcast. The only friends I made were weirdos (and I love most of them) and the occasional actual crazy person that made my life pivot. (So much to write!)
Girls girls girls! I've had four girlfriends, and all but one of them have either stayed in or should have stayed in a mental hospital. I blew it with the fourth, that's a different story I won't soon forget. (I imagine myself causing blunt force trauma to my head at this point, but I don't do such juvenile things anymore.)
It's not so bad to filter your friends, is it? Maybe just in the long run. I have missed out on a lot I could have experienced if I had APPEARED more friendly. Lots of drama, too, I bet. That's fine though.
I'm worried I won't be able to get a job very easily. For some reason that I'm too lazy to investigate there is a shortage already, and plus I'm labeled as a dropout, even though I stuck with failing high school right to the end. I failed solely because of homework. I learned plenty, and I proved it with the tests, but for some reason practice is more important than demonstration to these nutters. At least I understand what impoverished hipsters mean by not being part of the machine. My only chance to support someone beyond my own self is to get the GED and do as much college as I can stand.
My mom told me something interesting the other day. Apparently she was told by God, through fervent prayer, that the reason I'm not just doing another year of high school is because it's more important for me to go on a mission. It gives me hope, and fear. Am I really that run of the mill? to go on a mission like everyone else? I really don't think I'm just another soul. Most people around here are from the tribe of Ephraim, to which is given the most power and the most responsibility. They've proven to me that I'm nothing like they are, without any effort on their part. I can't be one of them. I don't want to be one of them, and I have this terrible feeling that I AM one of them, just the same as them, another grain of the overbearing, overcautious, prejudiced, "All is well in Zion" sand dune that covered and choked the desert flower long ago. I want to get out of here... and maybe God is calling me to find out what it's like elsewhere, to either prove or disprove my uneducated loathing for this place and its people. Even if I am of Ephraim, I won't let it mean anything. I won't say I'm better than them; I'm just different.
To be honest, I am guilty of a sin. I cannot ever confess, because the leaders of the church have played up its abomination and terribleness in nearly every talk they give; I am so ashamed of myself that by condemning the sin, I too am condemned by those great (naive; it must be said of them sometimes) old men. However, I believe strongly that my salvation is strictly between myself and the One offering it. No bishop nor any man of authority can stand between me and repentance. It could be that I'm just being complacent, but it beats the alternative of surrendering my soul to the world. Without that belief, there is no hope for me.
It seems this entry had gotten very church heavy. There are other things to talk about, you know.
I just saw Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World. It was, for lack of the will and attentiveness to offer a more fruitful description, awesome. Probably the best movie ever. I laughed a lot. But after the movie ended, I think it finally hit me after all these months that I'm alone, and will probably stay that way for a very long time. I have friends, family, God. Did I become too dependent on having that famous fourth element of companionship?
There is a dream girl out there who I've never even dreamed of. I don't even know what to ask for. I don't think it's my place to specify. I won't know her when I see her. I can imagine a million ways to meet her and all I can envision is my green eyes looking at her. No face, no body, no voice, nothing but an empty space where a woman belongs. All I can tell is that I think she's the most special person in the world, and that I'd better get my life straightened out before I can even think about starting to believe that I have a pirate's chance against a ninja with her.
Until then... I'll just have to distract myself from the emptiness, and try to stay out of my own spotlight. Whenever any attention is drawn to me, either because of my friends patting me on the back or because I just don't have anything else to think about, I feel it.
Which reminds me, I've been having these weird dreams lately. Usually my dreams are meaningless and forgettable before I even slip out of bed. This has frustrated me before; but now, I'm worried. I unwillingly imagine myself in random (normal for dreaming) situations, but I don't seem to be able to forget them. They've been so vivid lately that I seem unable to realize that if I'm able to float, it must be a dream. The feelings I feel are real. The strange mix of fear and amiability of hanging out with Frank, the over-experienced zombie; the devastation and embarrassment of not having a lesson prepared when I'm a schoolteacher; the desperation of not having the whippersnappers listen to me when I'm an old man, preaching to all in the room of the importance of taking care of your body; ...what it is anybody would feel when they're fooling around with an Asian beauty in a queen sized bed. The feelings have since passed and I can now realize them and scoff at them, but why would I dream such things in the first place? I feel as though they don't belong in my head, somehow, that some outside influence has been putting them there. Zombies, teaching, being old, and spending quality time with a strange woman who GENUINELY thinks I'm just the cat's meow are really not things I dream about. I dream about being a student, standing still in crowded places, falling through beautiful and impossible landscapes, driving a car, exploring dream versions of real places, performing musicals, talking to people I know from school, and many amazing things that I simply cannot recall or describe in detail.
I should probably go to bed soon. The sun is coming up any minute.
I really wish that I could share these thoughts with someone, but they're private. The only reason they're here is because I needed to put them somewhere. Honestly, if I did talk to someone about this, I would feel bad for laying so much on them. These are my issues, not theirs. But if you somehow found this blog, either by coincidence or because I chose to show it to you for some reason, feel free to cheer me on as I deftly dance around the giant hole in my existence that I purposefully leave unfilled.