A clear symptom of mental degradation: being up at 4:00 AM, writing facebook notes and listening to Air Supply. Sweet.
For most of this year, the three girls that live across the courtyard from my room have kept their shades up for most of the time; and for some of this time they even walk around in nothing but underwear. While I have to admit this does make me feel like something of a pervert, it also reminds me of how utterly incapable of my relationship skills and my history of deplorable, demoralizing loneliness. I’ll get over that, though.
What I wont get over is the first time I actually met one of the girls, which was earlier tonight. I suppose it is mostly my fault for letting the image of these pure, tempered girls be perpetuated in my mind. Hopeless romanticism aside, I think I had fallen into a blissful, yet very ignorant sort of love with these girls. Especially the shorter one with long, blondish-brown in that style that I love so much where it starts straight, and is curled at the bottom. I enjoy thinking of myself as veritable bastion of emotional depth, whose willpower and morality supersedes instinct, but whenever I looked at this girl, I thought “Wow, there aren’t many things I wouldn’t do to her” (Yes, murder is an exclusion.)
And then I met her. Chalk up another victory for “Drunken girl who manages to destroy any vestige of extrinsic, and even intrinsic, attractiveness she managed to possess prior to our meeting.” I should have just rejected the interaction, and left our relationship to the beautiful, albeit incredibly superficial and artificial, thing it was in my imagination.
And then I realized why I never interact with girls.
And then I realized why I’m sitting here at four in the fucking morning, alone, writing a facebook note with horrible syntax that maybe 2 people will read.
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