is impossible. When I let the guy pursue me, I'm told he thinks I don't like him. (All those books say if he's not trying to be with you he's "not that into you" anyways.) If I pursue him, he loses interest and goes chasing after someone else. I can't win. I used to get flowers, now I'm lucky to get a phone call. The last time a guy called to ask me out was a year and a half ago- a 22 year old unemployed aspiring actor who chatted me up at the laundromat. (There are a lot of those around here. Don't ask me why I gave him my number- I really didn't think he would call. I thought he was just seeing if he could talk me out of it.) I wish I could give up. I'm trying to just give up. It would be a relief to not care. I can see why people would choose to stay far away from this stuff. It could be that I am covered with guy-repellent. Maybe I'm a terrible first date. Maybe I make hideous faces that make guys nauseous and they have to go throw up after they see me. Whatever the reason, I can't take any more of this rejection. I may start applying to MFA programs and submitting my poetry to journal because that kind of rejection would be a breath of fresh air!
I'm kind of hoping no one reads this. What a strange day. I was told I was stunningly gorgeous (which was really nice), that a guy I went on a blind date with (who I initiated contact with) told the setter-upper that he didn't think I liked because I didn't call him after the date (do I have to do everything?), and thought about, while trying really hard not to, how much it hurts that someone who told me he'd always be there for me is ignoring me and lavishing his attention on someone else, a friend of mine. And now I'm whining and feeling sorry for myself. I probably shouldn't be blogging about this, but I still can't talk about this stuff very easily, unless I'm in the bathroom crying before a hockey game I suppose. Then its kind of hard to keep up the brave face. Maybe I have given up. I think that I want someone I can talk to about how I'm feeling, but it just seems impossible that anyone would want to hear about that, which is why my blog seems like my best friend. I miss my brother. This is the death anniversary month. Good old August. It comes every year without fail and I feel like hell for a month straight.