Surgery Day! OH BOYS!
I am on drugs and trussed up and throbbing. Thankfully I am an iconic example of a man in his physical prime, so my only injuries are cosmetic ones, resulting from wrestling crocodiles, taming lions, and the like. Mate.
Today was also a day for being hit on. A lot.
I obviously underestimate my pimp juice on a regular basis. I can think of no other way that attatched girls would virtually lob themselves at me, hungry for my bod. I mean, I'm a nerdy little awkward boy, but my sexiness finds a way through. I had to turn down the sexy doctor facing a midlife crisis, and the DJ who had a boyfriend "just like me." The only one I didn't have to turn away was the one who just IMPLIED everything. By sitting next to me and writing me notes and trying to impress me.
I'm still undecided about how, exactly "on the market," I am. My heart still hurts a lot from the last girl, and I'm not sure she'll ever be TOTALLY out of my system. So it's more a matter of moving on than of getting over. I know I'm in the process, I don't know how far along I am. I'm not going to be as emotionally available for a relationship as I'm used to, but I guess that's par for the course after being consumed and reduced to ash by the fires of passion.
Still, I'm willing to entertain ideas. I can't be serious about any kind of relationship at the moment, but I can definately explore my own limits, try some fun at this point in my life (the only point so far in which I can successfully ask for a girl's number. That shocked me for days after I did it).
Basically, I want to try a lot of different kinds of seeds on this ashen ground, 'till something takes root and blooms. No one is without baggage -- we all have the ashes of those who have burned us before. But the idea is to let that nurture the eventual blossom, not choke it.
Either way, at the moment, it's a moot point. Painfully trite comparsions to fire and plants doesn't mean much, and, Lucky Boy's Confusion lyrics, aside, I'm not going to mack on someone else's girl, nor can I see myself making much of a move on my own. I will contentedly resign myself once again to the Tao of Spike: "Whatever Happens, Happens."
See you Space Cowboy...
I am on drugs and trussed up and throbbing. Thankfully I am an iconic example of a man in his physical prime, so my only injuries are cosmetic ones, resulting from wrestling crocodiles, taming lions, and the like. Mate.
Today was also a day for being hit on. A lot.
I obviously underestimate my pimp juice on a regular basis. I can think of no other way that attatched girls would virtually lob themselves at me, hungry for my bod. I mean, I'm a nerdy little awkward boy, but my sexiness finds a way through. I had to turn down the sexy doctor facing a midlife crisis, and the DJ who had a boyfriend "just like me." The only one I didn't have to turn away was the one who just IMPLIED everything. By sitting next to me and writing me notes and trying to impress me.
I'm still undecided about how, exactly "on the market," I am. My heart still hurts a lot from the last girl, and I'm not sure she'll ever be TOTALLY out of my system. So it's more a matter of moving on than of getting over. I know I'm in the process, I don't know how far along I am. I'm not going to be as emotionally available for a relationship as I'm used to, but I guess that's par for the course after being consumed and reduced to ash by the fires of passion.
Still, I'm willing to entertain ideas. I can't be serious about any kind of relationship at the moment, but I can definately explore my own limits, try some fun at this point in my life (the only point so far in which I can successfully ask for a girl's number. That shocked me for days after I did it).
Basically, I want to try a lot of different kinds of seeds on this ashen ground, 'till something takes root and blooms. No one is without baggage -- we all have the ashes of those who have burned us before. But the idea is to let that nurture the eventual blossom, not choke it.
Either way, at the moment, it's a moot point. Painfully trite comparsions to fire and plants doesn't mean much, and, Lucky Boy's Confusion lyrics, aside, I'm not going to mack on someone else's girl, nor can I see myself making much of a move on my own. I will contentedly resign myself once again to the Tao of Spike: "Whatever Happens, Happens."
See you Space Cowboy...
It's much better to just take fun as it comes, because as soon as you start looking it'll vanish.