I'm not sure whether I should be working on the readability of my blog. At times its purely cathartic; getting out something that had been troubling me for awhile, even I get bored reading these things back. However if I focus too much on the readability it doesn't really capture the true essence of my boring life, my whiny inner monologue and my pathetic desperate nature. The protagonist doesn't have to be a likeable character, but they at least need to have a conflict to resolve. I care about the problems in my life for a day or two and then move on to new things. I don't want it to be a quest for love, or how to find a boyfriend type thing, because I have long since learnt the disillusion of love = happiness. And I don't want my main goal to be just one thing, like if I learn how to guitar then finally I'll be cool, the end. So there is no conflict in this blog, except for perhaps becoming a better writer, but I think we can all appreciate how far off I am from that one.
If I live a more plot filled life, perhaps this will make my blog more interesting. This thought was certainly not on my mind at the beginning of the weekend, but coming to its close (ok its Monday, but I'm a shift worker so it still counts) I've decided that my less than exciting life drama will have to be enough. But I don't want to over dramatise, so I'll just do a reader digest version of the last few days.
There were friend hang outs, and parties, and a girl I met at said friend hang out wanted to practice speaking French with me, which worked out fine because the guy I quite like was in the room, so I could charm him subconsciously from a distance. 'Guy I quite like' asked about which books I'm reading, and being the genius that I am, told him I'd lend them to him when I'm finished (creating a reason for us to see each other in the near future -nailed it!). There was drunken chess at different party, and my ex who I'm back friends with now made an appearance. I found out he had blocked my number as he was leaving, a facebook message and a joke (about the impossibilty of booty calls) later and I was unblocked. Have not called him, will not call him, will not call him.
Then there was sun, sand and a shark warning which cut our swim short. My hair went curly with the salt water and my young platonic friend looked very attractive in the sun. I want to slow it down at this point, drag it out a little longer so I can relive it. It was such a nice day, the kind I will look back on and miss when I get older and more settled down in my affairs. So lets rewind to the morning, at church. My young platonic friend went overseas recently and was sharing at church. I admired him from the pew and as they are in the bad habit of doing, my eyes rested briefly over his crotch, wondering if the slight bulge was simply how his pants sat. He had bought me a present, a small, beautiful pencil case, with gold elephants weaved into the black fabric. And as he handed it to me after the service I realised he probably liked me. Later we beached along with my best friend and his best friend. It wasn't so much a planned hang out as a -he'd asked me casually what I was up to that day and I said beach, and he said he was beach as well. It made sense to all do the beach. We ate chips, his treat, and then we went to carols in the park. Apparently the public opinion of the evening was a general disappointment, and anger towards the vast array of genres sampled in order to mix things up this Christmas. But it didn't matter to us at all. The picnic rug was a squish with the four of us. Me and him sat next to each other and had many a bumped arm incident, til eventually I just rested myself into him and we silently enjoyed the sensation. When we did eventually reshuffle and part slightly from one another, I placed my hand in the communal territory between us, but he didn't take the bait. We went back to his, dropping my friend off on the way. Then there were three. I went in to his to use the facilities. We chatted for awhile and decided to watch a movie. Half way through the movie our number reduced to two. I rested my head on his shoulder as the credits rolled and we held hands. He told me he liked me. This sounds so perfect, but allow me to delve into my neurotic over thinking head space for a second.
He's a bit younger than I am (3 years - 19), and I'm still not sure how I feel. I think he's one of the greatest people I will ever meet. He's such a good guy, almost super hero good, and he's sweet and kind and generous with a beautiful faith. But so young and still figuring out life. I've been a bit of a flip-flopper with guys recently. I think that's how it works though, right? You meet people and you make friends, and if you find them attractive maybe you flirt, and then hopefully they want to see you, and then you hang out to get to know them, and then you either are interested or your not. I'm not going to wait around for this other 'guy I quite like' to borrow my books and take a potential interest in me, because it's like waiting for a train that isn't coming. Stupid and a waste of time. So I've been flirting and maybe I'm leading him on, but I don't think it is if I'm legitimately considering him.
We talked for a little while. I was pretty honest with him. I apologised for acting so impulsively (calm down I just mean cuddling him, I saw chance of cuddles, and I went for it without really thinking about how it might make him feel). He said it was fine and I said I should go and then we made out anyway. It was strange at first, my friend who normally is not close to my face was all of a sudden close to my face. But then it was passionate and our bodies were so close and I found out it wasn't just the pants. It was such a pleasant time. Once we got bored of making out we cuddled silently for a long time. I told him I really still wasn't sure and he was fine with being friends. And so I've day dreamed about it all day, and have been in a sort of hazy state of happiness, which I guess is pretty selfish, because the more I logically think about it, the more I feel that I will have to hurt his feelings pretty soon. But I know him, and he'll take it well and probably be more worried for my well-being than his own (yep, he's just that good - i get frustrated that I don't like him more than I do).
So that's the end of my exciting plot filled tale. The rest of the day I spent reading, living other people's plot filled lives, so not much to report there. (Reading Lolita - beautifully written, I feel bad for enjoying such an immoral story).
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