Dammit!
Really beginning to feel like a loser these days, with capital L. Awkward, graceless with a constant foot in my mouth. Doesn't help that I also feel like something of a cross between a wallflower and Chandler. Multiplied by a factor greater than infinity. Yes, that bad. Though I probably exaggerate; I hope. I think the biggest drawback, the greatest drag is the all-pervading self-consciousness that envelopes me like an impregnable layer of mucus. Sometimes I get a strange suspicion I'm socially inept when it comes to dating. I should be more honest; I'm socially inept when it comes to getting a date. There, one less white lie. Truth be told, since honesty seems to be the order of the day, I'm quite annoyed and irritated, not to mention demoralised and lacking in self confidence. It's just one of those days, I guess. Or weeks. Perhaps months?
I think that everyone has one paralysing, all consuming, brain freezing, mouth drying, tongue twisting fear when it comes to dating. It could be anything under the sun, from something embarrassing like bad skin and speech impediment to something incredibly trivial such as horrible shoes. Mine is rejection. There's no human response more devastating than rejection. I blame it on my astrological constellations. Rejection is an anathema to Leos. Being proud creatures and all (some might say vain), we cannot live with the fact that we're not wanted. Maybe I overdramatise. I wouldn't say 'cannot live', but I will say 'cannot accept'. There's a reason for the phrase 'a pride of lions', you know. Proud beasts, we are. Okay, perhaps slightly overfed and more than used to the comforts of life, but underneath that all is a lean, mean machine. Add thick, flowing hair for effect.
You may ask - how can one get rejected without having made an attempt? (Long drawn) True, but therein lies the cosmic mystery of the chicken and egg. In order to get rejected, I must try. If I try, I face rejection. Oh, the Greek tragedy of it all (hands flung across forehead). I'm being a woos-like character, aren't I? Yeah yeah, I know the drill; win, not whine. No, it's not from the Love Guru. What's even more tragic is that I'm not even in a situation to contemplate organising a date; there's a small issue of finding someone to ask out.
O what a tangled web we weave, even more so as there is no web.
On to something more uplifting. I think. Attended a wedding reception on Saturday, an impressive one at that, with classical dancers and performances. Oh, and plenty of booze. And yes, instead of metamorphosising into a social butterfly and fluttering among the many flowers, I contorted into a Norm and parked myself at the bar, whiskey and cigarettes and all. Shaken and completely unstirred. A real microgenius. A late visit to Waikiti Too failed to boost flagging spirits, worsened by less than satisfactory beer. And thus the weekend just flew by, leaving me trailing in its wake. I'm still trying to figure out how come it's Monday already.
Oo, are you questioning your size? Is there a tumour in humour, are there bags under you eyes?
Currently on my mental playlist are Love Supreme and Brass in Pocket, on repeat. At times, they're digitally remixed, one song melting into the other. Hopefully, just hopefully, they send me sailing through the week. Then maybe I'll get out of it.
I think.
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