SheFallsSoftly

I don’t always do things because I think they’ll be good decisions. I do probably about 50% of non vital daily activities solely because they’ll entertain me and I know they’re bad choices. I embrace life as a vaguely entertaining dramatic farce. I presume that everything I’m feeling is fake, that I don’t mean a word I say *really*. Of course, this is the nihilist in me telling me none of it has any meaning, nothing can be true. As long as I can think, I can doubt, and as long as I can doubt reality never quite hits tangibility.

With all of that in mind, let me feign a tear for the past and some hope for the future. Let me say that this is hurting me so deeply, and I’m so sad that I had to do it. Let me pretend like I won’t be able to sleep at night.

The problem is that everyone is writing their own farce, so the part I’m playing is always getting misinterpreted by my critics. Oh, the pain of being an artist. I play honest and genuinely exposed. They interpret as crazed and obsessive.

Let me put it this way; I don’t want him back. Hell, I don’t even want him in my life. Doesn’t mean my characted isn’t obligated to show lots of remorse and even have a dramatic crawling back type scene. For the moment, this is where my script is leading me, and right now I hope that it keeps leading me the same way, no looking backward, no self doubt, no sudden relapse.

What I want, or more accurately what my character is scripted to want, is to stop thinking all of the goddamned time. I want to stop worrying and asking questions, and pondering philosophically, and I want to stop being this type of intelligent. I know lots of very booksmart girls who have never once questioned their existence. I want that. I want peace of mind, and simplicity, and I want to really have a unified vision of what I want that doesn’t involve going back in time and changing all of these atrocious choices I’ve made.

I am angry right now. I had my feelings hurt, and I feel exposed and humiliated. I am bitter right now because what I thought I wanted is turning out to be something entirely different than I had envisioned. It isn’t what I wanted at all, it is some gross charicature of one aspect of what I wanted. Angry and bitter are good motivators when it comes to making changes, and I have been pretty certain for a good long while that this change had to be made.

I’m really no good at goodbyes. What I wanted to say in that conversation was not what I said. All I really wanted to say was "I am so much better than the way you treat me. I do not like the part of you I have found, and I don’t want to know it anymore. Go fuck yourself." I always add lines that just clutter the meaning and the feeling. Likely, even if I had gotten that far I would have added on a  good "Someday, I hope you pull your head out of your ass long enough to be happy," but it really wouldn’t have portrayed the selfish self preservation that I’m indulging right now.

I’m the sort of girl that loves a challenge. Maybe I should keep my challenges rooted in academia from now on.

I keep telling telling myself that I need to let myself feel it as I feel it, stop forcing my emotions, stop lying to myself.

Fuck that. This is stupid, and that is not the way emotions work. Things are only as important as you let them be. There are millions of bad and messed up things in the world that I don’t let bother me. If I worried constantly about global warming, or rapture, or if I cried at night hoping that The Spice Girls never put out another album, people would tell me I was crazy and medicate me. Yet, when some boy who I like doesn’t like me back I’m supposed, and even encouraged, to cry and freak out like the world is ending? I’d better spend my time crying every time I saw a Hummer on the street, or because there’s going to be a Garfield movie. These are signs of the apocolypse, not a lack of cuddles.

This entire last two months just reeks of me not acting like myself. Sad little puppy following boy who doesn’t like her around? I hate those girls. I disrespect myself for acting like that. I know he didn’t feel what I felt and I should have just walked away rather than letting him get so close to me and letting down all of those walls and hurting myself so much worse in the end. And damnit, I need to stop acting like he’s the only tortured intellectual who will make me watch his TV shows and cuddle me in the world. It’s not like this group of men is hard to come by, they have whole conventions of them under aliases like “Science Bowl”, “Science Olympiad”, “Star Trek Convention”, and “The Library”.

I need to calm the hell down, and stop letting this get to me so much. I need to stop thinking about that promise he broke that proved me wrong, I need to stop thinking about the cowlick on his face and laughing. It makes no more sense for me to miss him than it does for him to walk away.

I am a smart girl. I’m well read, I’m philosophically inclined, I’m capable, and self sufficient, artistic, caring, and not bad to look at. I am entirely worth the time of anyone smart enough to want me, and the vast majority of the time anyone I’m interested in is also interested in me. I am not going to keep feeling bad because I would have been good for him. I am not going to keep feeling insecure because he never complimented me. It is entirely his loss.

And I am entirely too young, and too clever.