Okay, so I’m back on the blogging track again. Brace yourself my non-existence readers for there will be a lot of late night confessionals and contemplations. So I’ve been really meaning to write all day, I swear! But just like how most things in my life have a strange way of not working out, this lack or space or time to write didn’t bother me all that much. Oh the joys of being apathetic. I grit my teeth as we speak. (Yes I am delusional enough to consider this as a conversation between my viewers and me.) I am trying to put all my energy into being articulate and witty at so late and hour, but fate has a way intervening in the form of useless conversation from my half-asleep mother.
Do I really have to show interest and care about the fact that my sister’s ex-boyfriend didn’t get into some fancy management-training program that he applied for?! Ex’s are meant to be loathed and ridiculed; every failure that comes along their way is meant to be a source of immense gratification and satisfaction for every self-respecting jilted woman. When did my baby sister grow up to have a mature adult friendship with her ex and why wasn’t I told about this?
Things haven’t changed a whole lot in the last two days, I’ve been stuck in a self imposed irritated funk that I stubbornly refuse to get out off. We’re all just a tad bit sad in an overwhelmingly sad world. Keeping the grand scheme of things in perspective, my problems seem almost miniscule and often contrived from the inner recesses of my imagination. If I didn’t have them, I wouldn’t be sitting here today happily farting away, without feeling self-conscious as I type these words.
Mama sleeps in the corner, I shudder as I write these words, and I would never want her to read about the things that I think, do or say. It would truly kill her. It would truly kill me to know that I was responsible for so hideous an act. But for now I’m safe. I try to keep the typing noise to a minimum and sneak glances in her direction to make sure that her eyes are away from the monitor.
I’m the poster child for mediocrity. I write, but I’ve never been published. I take pictures that draw appreciative exclamations from my friends, but my work has never been exhibited. I’ve made a few films, but have not won any major film festivals. I make enough money to never have to ask “adults” for any, but not enough to get my own place. I have no exceptional talents or skills and I’m not beautiful. I wonder about my place in the world and almost always draw a blank. In spite of all the odds against me, I have total faith in myself. It’s not my abilities that bolster my conviction time and again but my blind conviction in them.
Why do I say all this? Because I have some elaborate plans cooking in my head that I will execute in the near future. Why do I mention this now? Because something strange and exciting happen to me yesterday that I shall reveal later.
It suddenly hit me that I had relented to the charms of a raging womanizer. I’m quiet the idiot at the matters of the heart and bodily pleasure. I’m angry, irritated and sad. Do I feel used? Sure. Do I feel taken advantage of? Absolutely. Is this the only reason that I’ve been barking at people all day? No.
I’m ordinary looking, my hips are too wide, my hair is too frizzy and my face is momentarily covered with hideous acne. I avoid looking in the mirror lately as my reflection frightens me. I’m blind without my glasses and refuse to wear them to the guy in order to avoid interacting with myself in the glass house. No boy has given me a second glance in the last few months and matter is gravely upsetting. Naturally, I was extremely faltered when T showed some interest in me that night. Cerebral appeal can only get you so far and it’s almost always a waste if not supported by some killer looks. I wasn’t instantly attracted to him, I didn’t even notice him at first, there were one way too many people that night at the bar and he was just another friend’s friend. As the night progressed my intoxication grew and with it my heightened awareness of my surroundings. We gradually got talking and discovered we had a lot in common. Our passion for world cinema and literature bonded us that night. The evening was supposed to end predictably, I was to get drunker and pass out in my own bed at some obscure hour of the morning just before the sun shone. I did end up passing in my own bed but with a few extra additions to my cell phone book and remnants of the feel of R’s drunken kisses upon my lips. (R being my other suitor that night!)
We courted on facebook; we exchanged playful “pokes” and messages. I hesitated, he persisted, we met, we talked and we fucked. Sounds like the perfect ending to a 21st century fairytale. I’m not angry or guilty at the fact that I committed the preposterous act fornication. Neither am I angry at the fact that I didn’t wait long enough, didn’t play hard. I’m just angry at the fact that it all had to end so soon and so abruptly!
No self-respecting sexual active woman in her mid-20’s would like to think or know the fact that the man that she has slept with doesn’t desire enough to want to do it with her more than once. It’s an insult! It’s worst when you are much more experienced that most in the country and culture that you inhabit. (Hookers and call girls of course remain an exception.) I’m shy but somewhat adventurous, I’m open to suggestions, ideas and experimentation in due course of time. I need to be understood and nurtured, but most men that I meet are I guess incapable of that. I did dinner and desert with a friend tonight, he has generally been upset at the fact that hasn’t gotten laid in a long time. Many women have caught his fancy but he hasn’t managed to snag any. A told me that I should feel good that at least I got some as opposed to none. There grass is always greener on the other side I say. In my case you get on the other side and realize that there really is no grass all it is, is a mirage. Yes I suppose I’m glad that I “got some” what I’m really not so glad about is that the getting some had to end then and there. May be I should prepare my self to fathom the unthinkable.
I might just absolutely suck in bed.
(More reflections and contemplations on the unexpected events of Saturday night to come.)